The Ultimate Sacrifice: 149th Hunger Games
by Katrace
Summary: The Hunger Games is something that can't be forgotten, and definitely not in a good way. When a young victor from District 5 does the unthinkable, chaos is imminent. And it's not helping that the 149th Games is about to begin... *SYOT Closed*
1. Prologue

_**Tycho Observatory, District 5**_

In a matter of two weeks, it would be four years since Oliver Penway's life had been changed forever—and definitely for the worse. As hard as the twenty-one-year-old tried, he couldn't eradicate the memories trapped in his mind. They were recordings being played over and over again, recordings impossible to pause. They were much harder to eliminate than to begin thinking of, and they had taken a toll on the victor.

The 145th Hunger Games was a complete hell, needless to say. It was one of the last games of the Donovan era. The Head Gamemaker always went with the most macabre ideas, and the year of Oliver's victory was no exception. This arena was supposed to represent a prison, but it seemed real to the tributes…as well as every Pane watching the fighting from their televisions.

Lionel Donovan didn't stop at the aesthetic component of his design, though. He also managed to replicate the screams of dissidents being tortured to death. But the actual prisoners had to listen to this for what seemed like an eternity.

While Oliver stared at the mountains in the distance, he remembered the noises, despite the fact that the only thing out there was the cacophony of chirping insects. This led him to think of the other things he experienced during those two weeks.

It especially reminded him of Day Six, when the prison floor was infested with spider and black rat muttations. He cringed, as if there were really rodents crawling beneath his clothes and gnawing on his skin. It sure felt like it, and he wanted to escape.

The Tycho Observatory wasn't a place one would expect to find him, especially in the middle of the night. It was a secluded, practically obsolete location along the outskirts of District 5. Although it had reached its prime decades ago, it was eventually overshadowed by the eclectic and popular science museum established when Oliver was a child. He never particularly liked it, if he were completely honest with himself.

There was always something that differentiated him from the others.

Without his unique perspective, however, he wouldn't have stood outside of the dome, leaning on the balcony. He'd contemplated what he was about to do for a while, but it wasn't until that spring day when he officially decided he would follow through. That afternoon, he heard something about a Gahm in the news, which changed everything.

All of the guilt and remorse bottled up since the bloodbath flooded inside of him. Of course, he had frequent traumatic memories, but the ones of true regret weren't as prevalent (he remembered the sole fear more often). Usually, when they did occur, they came in great bouts like these.

The last time it happened, it cost Oliver a mutilated wrist and a slit abdomen. That's when his brother moved in and took away all the sharp objects.

Everyone believed that treated him. Little did they know the truth.

All he could think about for hours was that one day, the one that ruined everything. At first, he would always say _It was self-defense_, but then he realized it wasn't. It was him being his paranoid, idiotic self.

_It's your fault._ If he didn't do it, she could have lived just a little longer. He wasn't thinking at the time, though.

No matter what anyone said, he was still a murderer. A cold-blooded murderer. He didn't deserve to make it out of that arena alive.

Oliver gripped the rail of the balcony and pulled himself over to the other side, standing on the narrow ledge. His palms were clammy, his whole body was trembling, and he looked down at what was visible of the ground. He wasn't sure how high up he was, but did it really matter? He doubted it.

It was now or never. He felt the same adrenaline pumping through him as he did during the launch, but there was something different about this night. He knew exactly what it was. His lip quivered, and he closed his eyes. That way, it could happen in complete darkness, nothing holding him back. The force field stopped him at the Training Center, his brother was able to revoke his knives, but what could stop him this time? Nil.

In the early hours of May 24th, Oliver Penway jumped from the Tycho Observatory tower.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Now, on to the housekeeping things. First off, I don't want to have this story deleted. So please, for the love of Panem, submit your tributes via PM; I have the form on my profile. If you don't have an account, message me on my Tumblr (quirkyintrovert15) instead. You are also free to reserve a tribute, but I have a twenty-four hour policy.<br>**_

_**Second, you can send a maximum of two tributes. Don't be afraid to send twelve and thirteen-year-olds; they are important, too.  
><strong>_

_**Third, as you can tell, this is definitely AU. I don't want to reveal the specifics, because I'd like to incorporate it into the storyline. However, you should know that District 13 has been rebuilt above ground and will compete in the Games. **_

_**Finally, this SYOT will be written in a different format than most. Personally, I find twelve chapters of reapings incredibly redundant, so I will have a couple districts in the pre-reaping chapter, a couple in the reaping chapter, and so on.  
><strong>_

_**May the odds be ever in your favor!**_


	2. Pre-Reapings

**Glisten Stardust, 18 - District 1 Female**

In less than forty-eight hours, the entirety of District 1 would stand in the vast square, waiting to discover their tributes for the 149th Hunger Games.

Despite this, three out of four of the Stardust girls believed it would be a good idea to spend the whole night partying away. The opposing daughter, Glisten, swore she could feel the nauseating taste of vomit in her mouth just thinking about that notion. Although it may have been an exaggeration, it was still atrocious.

It was one in the morning, and it didn't appear that the commotion from downstairs would die down anytime soon. For at least five hours straight, Glisten was only able to hear two things: the dance music with strange lyrics, and the uncivilized hollers and hoots of the million guests. This wasn't an unfamiliar situation for her, though.

Every time her parents went on one of their 'excursions', partying at her house was certain. Glisten wasn't much for festivities. The last time she brought her friends over was for her birthday, and even then, they didn't do anything too crazy. Not to mention, there were only seven people there.

Frankly, she had a hard time understanding why her sisters loved what they did. They were weird.

Eventually, Glisten decided to get out of that hellhole. She descended the stairs as fast as possible and bolted past everyone, making note of several disturbing sights. The most disconcerting one was Twinkle dancing rather _suggestively _with a boy that couldn't be any younger than nineteen. To make matters worse, she was three years younger than Glisten!

As she looked at this, she shook her head. Her sister could have taken the same path as her, but alas, Twinkle Stardust decided to follow in the footsteps of Shimmer and Sparkle—particularly the former. And speaking of the devil…

Just as she was about to escape for the rest of the night, she came face to face with her intoxicated oldest sister. Shimmer spoke in a drunken slur, and her words were all but unintelligible. Glisten felt a limp arm touch and tug at her. She heard an insane laugh emit from her sister's mouth. Her stomach became a little queasy, but the end result was almost always the same.

Without thinking it through, she shoved her sister right in the core, knocking her into two people talking. She dashed to the door, quickly closing it behind her and knowing where she was heading to.

However, she wasn't speedy (or discreet) enough.

Before she could say the words 'stupid party', the guests she inadvertently knocked into flew through the door and came charging towards her. It would be a long night, Glisten was sure of it. She made her way onto Silversmith Road and paced herself. She looked back for a fraction of a second, which probably wasn't the best idea.

They gained on her and crowded around. The large boy grabbed onto her shoulders.

"Who do you think you are?"

"For your information, I'm Shimmer's sister. And regardless of what I did, she's not going to be happy if you attack me." Maybe it wasn't the best card to play, but Glisten had a backup plan that would definitely work.

"Liar!" the girl standing to the right of her shouted. She grabbed onto her arm, but Glisten was a lefty. Sometimes that did come in handy. She elbowed the colossal boy in the gut and swiftly pulled out the one thing she always kept in her pocket. She pointed it at her adversary, putting the blade a millimeter away from her skin.

"Let go of me, or I'm going to move it closer."

"Hey, don't you screw with my girl!" the boy shouted.

She tried to think of a good comeback.

Eventually, she hissed at the boy, "I'm not ignoring _you_." Glisten tried to untangle herself from the girl's grip and successfully ended up reciprocating the act. Then she aimed the knife at her other opponent. The light from the house shone on them, and she could see that she was very close to nicking off part of his facial hair. She moved the knife a little closer, slightly scraping it.

"Get. Lost. Both of you."

Although there was hesitation—a lot of it, actually—Glisten finally managed to direct them towards the house after what seemed like hours. When she heard the faint click of the door, she was able to get away, at least until the party was over. She was all alone and couldn't hear the sounds from inside at all.

She then walked along Silversmith and contemplated things. Often times, late at night, she would think more deeply. It was therapeutic for her. This time, Glisten started thinking about what was actually relevant.

It annoyed her that popularity had to be so imperative in society. People were so focused on it that they lost sight of what was really important.

Life wasn't about parties. Life wasn't about having an infinite amount of friends. Life wasn't about getting all the guys, or being liked by everyone. No, none of those would affect anything.

But Glisten knew something that would actually be beneficial.

Whenever she used her knife, she felt in control of her world. It was her one salvation and had gotten her out of a fair amount of sticky situations. As she put her knife back into her pant pocket, her mouth curled into a small smile. Moments like these asserted that she had potential to be in the Hunger Games.

Ever since she was little, she had dreamed of becoming a tribute, but as the years went by, she took it more seriously, including enrollment and extensive training at the Academy.

And this night, she was one hundred percent sure that she would volunteer.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Onyx "Nyx" Tourmaline, 17 - District 1 Male<strong>

If a survey was conducted in District 1, four out of five people would have heard of Nyx Tourmaline before, particularly in the western region. There were two reasons for this.

First, he was part of the wealthy Tourmaline family and was the heir to their substantial fortune. (Ironically, he didn't like to affiliate with what he called his 'rich bastards of a family that don't give a crap' and made sure to distinguish himself from them at all costs.)

Second, he was a notorious rogue who people steered clear of. It was easy to spot the uniquely blue-haired boy wreaking havoc in any way, shape, or form.

It was around eleven o'clock on June 6th, and Nyx sat in a narrow alleyway with the gang. While it was only made up of a few members, it was fairly successful and wouldn't be going away anytime soon, as much as people wanted.

Several clouds of smoke from the boys' cigarettes merged into one. Nyx offered a cancer stick to the newly recruited Peridot Simon.

Peridot wasn't under the radar too much until a month before. That was when he was caught writing one of the most vulgar phrases in the book on the mayor's house. Despite the great amount of perturbed people, Nyx's gang was rather impressed by this transgression and decided to let him in.

Just as Peridot was about to take a puff, none other than Malachite Dinapoli entered the alley. He took large strides as he made his way towards the gang and had a scowl on his face. He plopped himself right across from Nyx and stared him down, almost black eyes boring into plain brown ones.

"Oh, Nyx, you think you're so much better than me, don't you?" Malachite was technically one of the gang, but he would always attempt to test the leader's limits.

"What makes you say that?" he retorted in a snarky tone. Malachite shot him the bird, and he scoffed. Then, the seventeen-year-old's adversary socked him right in the nose. Blood gushed from it, but it wasn't as if it was damaged already (it had been broken several times and was covered in bruises).

As he liked say, _a little blood didn't hurt nobody_.

Nyx held his nose with his left thumb and pointer finger, then got up from the ground; Malachite followed his lead. He threw punches at his assailant. Although he had half of his abilities with one hand, he was still proficient compared to most people. The rest of their gang backed away from the fight, but they still ogled in awe.

Nyx successfully dodged most of the boy's offenses—note _most—_for the next ten minutes or so and actually made some hits. However, when he tried to make another move at his rival, he was shoved on the concrete, feeling the full blow of the fall.

He was then pinned at the shoulders, and Malachite grabbed onto his left hand, thus letting the blood run down his body. It seeped onto his black shirt, but it was barely visible unless one observed it for a while.

Nyx slipped out of Malachite's hold and grabbed his neck. They somersaulted over so that he was now on top. His rival made gagging noises. Before he started clawing at him, he let go and yanked both of them up from the ground. Nyx established some distance between them and then flew towards him at full force.

Just as he was about to kick, two men ran into the alleyway donning infamous white outfits with black visors. Peacekeepers.

The taller one pulled Nyx off of Malachite and dragged him outside of the alley. He knew what was coming—it happened more often than not. Therefore, he wasn't surprised at all when the Peacekeeper raised his hand and slapped him across the face, stinging the skin.

He was bashed into the brick wall of the building making up the right part of the alley several times. Punches and kicks came at him next, and the shorter Peacekeeper decided to join in.

When Nyx's attackers finally had enough, they hit him one last time before going back to their duty. 'Fair punishment', as they said. Something was seriously screwed up with the system, especially if Malachite got away with the fight, but he was tough.

He returned and slouched against the wall, rubbing the newly formed bruise on his shin. Malachite had to stifle a giggle.

"Tell you what," Malachite announced, "While you were getting the shit smacked out of, I thought of a new dare for you. See if you're too much of a pansy to do it."

Nyx rolled his eyes. He had done pretty much every challenge under the sun, from burning the Sullivans' ostentatious piano to skateboarding across town completely naked. They were so tiring and predictable.

"And what would this genius dare of yours be?"

"Nothing much…just…"

"Spit it out, dude!"

"…Volunteering for the Hunger Games." The other members of the gang were so shocked that their eyes were about to pop out of their heads. Someone made an _ooo_, but all Nyx did was raise his heavy brow.

"Will do," he flippantly responded.

"I expect to see you on that stage tomorrow. Got it?"

"I said I'd do it. Do I ever chicken out?"

Malachite laughed again. "I wouldn't say—"

"I don't. That's that—" he paused for a moment—"Challenge accepted." Malachite walked out of the narrow alleyway and murmured to himself, presumably mocking Nyx. When he was out of sight, there was an awkward silence until Peridot piped up.

"You really gonna do it?"

He nodded his head and stroked the silver arrow on the chain necklace he sported. It represented everything the gang was.

"You haven't been here long," he informed Peridot, "but you should know that I _never _back out. Ever."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Raquel Byron, 18 - District 2 Female <strong>

The minute Raquel was called down to the office, she knew what it was for. She pressed the button to open the automatic door. Her mother sat at the metal desk with a grimace on her face, and her dark blonde hair contrasting her daughter's brown.

Raquel sat down in the chair and looked at the plaque lying on the tabletop—the name _Katerina Byron_ engraved in the gold. A chill ran up her spine as her eyes flicked from one of these sights to the other.

Eventually, her mother decided to begin the conversation.

"Hello, Raquel." Her voice showed no sign of amiableness, and it possessed the same cold tone it usually did. In fact, it froze Raquel's confidence—which happened once in a blue moon—so it hindered her from responding. Instead, she simply nodded her head. Her mother proceeded.

"You only have this year to follow through. No more chances. It has to happen tomorrow." Neither of them had to clarify what 'it' meant.

"Yes, ma'am," Raquel muttered, her dark brown eyes getting wider. Denial wasn't a thing in the Byron house, no matter how much she might have wanted it to be.

"I don't think you fully understand what this means," her mom blatantly stated. She wasn't sure how to respond.

"People would do anything to have the same opportunities as you. You're able to train here, and it wouldn't happen if you weren't my daughter." She never failed to display her excessive hubris.

The Byrons' were one of the wealthiest and most famous families in District 2, especially with Katerina being the ruthless founder and head trainer of their vast Academy, and her husband, Cyprus (who was actually more lenient than her), as one of the assistant trainers.

"You've done this for fifteen years, and I'm not going to let you stop now." Training had been a part of Raquel for pretty much her whole life, and she couldn't remember a time when she wasn't practicing at the Academy.

"I understand," Raquel replied, trying to appease her mother.

"Your father and I didn't become trainers for nothing," Katerina dismissed her daughter, "Why do you think we work so hard doing this?"

"So you can have a victor in the family." As if she wasn't reminded ten times a day.

Her mother puckered her lips and exclaimed, "Exactly! The only way we can achieve happiness is if you or Jasper come back home from winning the Hunger Games. And do you see the way your brother trains? He puts in a hundred and ten percent effort and goes the extra mile. But he's not volunteering until two years from now. You're doing it in less than twenty-four hours."

Before Raquel could say anything, her mother stated, "I don't care if twenty people want to volunteer. You're the only one who's going to be up there, no matter what. If not, then I don't know what I'm going to do."

"I will volunteer for you, Mother."

"I expect you to keep your promise. If you don't, it will take a toll on you for the rest of your life." Raquel knew what she meant, but she didn't bring it up.

"I will."

After a short pause of silence, her mother declared, "You can go back to your gymnasium now. And remember, if I hear from your father or Jasper that you didn't work hard today, you know what the consequences are."

Of course she knew. Her family had the same punishment for slacking for the past decade and a half. No dinner, regardless of what the conditions were. Depravation of meals had happened to Raquel several times over the years.

She pressed the button to exit her mother's office, passing through the threshold.

When she was in the front room, she caught sight of a young man sitting in one of the chairs. Raquel had seen him around the Academy before, but she couldn't place a name on him. What was it…Thaddeus? She couldn't remember. Given his brute strength elucidated through his visible muscles, she knew he was there for the same reason she was.

This meant competition.

As she entered the hallway, back to the gymnasium, her innards tied into a complex knot, tugging at every side. It finally hit her that she would be heading to what was essentially war in no more than a day.

She mulled over all she had done in her extensive training. Ever since she young, Raquel thought she had done her best. She was pretty decent with her javelin and spear, and hell, she trained so hard that she became ambidextrous. That was definitely something to be proud of. Apparently it wasn't good enough for her mother, though.

Therefore, she had to show what she could really do. She was definitely capable of accomplishing great things in the Hunger Games; she knew that for sure. If she tried extra hard, then maybe she would earn her mother's respect.

Raquel Byron had talent. She was motivated. She was a quick-witted girl. She had potential to be a good leader.

She would be a victor.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Gaius Rolle, 18 - District 2 Male<strong>

In general, there were two types of people in District 2. The more prevalent group always conformed to society, no matter what. They never rebelled and did whatever authority told them to do.

However, a few (but growing number of citizens) fit into the second category. These people were the outcasts, the ones whom the first type looked down on. They never seemed to do what was expected of them, even if they tried.

Without a doubt, Gaius Rolle was part of the latter group.

The late afternoon the day before the reaping, he worked on an intricate trap whilst observing the other cadets at the Byron Academy.

"Yo! Gaius!" He was snapped out of his examination by Rufus Callahan. He looked up at the lanky boy who was beaming with a large smile plastered on his face. "What's up?"

"Eh, nothing much. Wanna see what I've done?" His friend observed his design, making note of each component he fabricated.

"Damn, that's good," He then lowered his voice, "Anyway, did you see Mrs. Byron this morning? She was _pissed_!" Gaius sheepishly blushed, thinking about what he and Rufus had done the night before.

Some people took the Academy so seriously that they lived there. While he had a more irreverent approach towards it, his father forced him and his fourteen-year-old brother, Octavian, to make it their home. Therefore, Rufus often decided to keep him company.

That night was no exception. Whenever this happened, pranks were inevitable, and they always required Gaius's astuteness.

"So she found the worms?"

"Yup." Rufus smirked. "You're not gonna believe what I heard her say!" He whispered the words in Gaius's ear, trying to keep from cracking up.

"Oh, yeah!" The two boys slapped hands and snickered. If they weren't making mischief of some sorts, then something was wrong. It was inexorable ever since they joined the Academy.

Just as they were about to talk some more, their friend, Corvo Bird, stormed towards them.

"Are you shitting me?!" Their ears perked up, and they gave the short and stout boy their full attention. If they spaced off for even a minute, it wouldn't be good news.

"What's goin' on?" Rufus asked.

"Maybe if you weren't so busy with your little tea party, then maybe you'd know!"

"Whoa! Chill out, dude. The whole gym can hear you," Gaius tried consoling him. He scanned the room to see if anyone was looking their way, but the majority of people seemed more immersed in their punching bags and hammers and whatnot.

Corvo's face reddened, and it contorted with rage as he glanced over at one cadet in particular. His two friends had an idea of who it was.

"Do you see that little dickhead over there?"

"Who? Thor?" Rufus asked.

"No, President Laud," he snapped at them, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course it's Thor, you dumbass!"

"He's always a dick," Gaius remarked. He wasn't lying at all. In fact, Thor Holmberg had cornered him several times before, accompanied by his two cronies, Maximus and Bishop. The last straw was when they started hurling insults at Rufus, referring to him as a 'ginger' and other offensive slurs.

When someone messed with his friends, they were messing with him. But Thor had the IQ of a rock.

"Yeah, and he thinks he's so effing amazing. I could totally beat him." Everyone associated with Corvo knew of his infamous Napoleon complex. It wasn't uncommon to hear him rambling about how he was superior, so Rufus and Gaius were used to it.

"Apparently he's volunteering this year," Rufus noted. "Ha, I'd love to see that!"

He then emulated Thor's voice, lowering it to almost a baritone, growling and acting all masculine. "'I'm Thor Holmberg and I like to fight. Grr! I'm so awesome and all the ladies love my muscles. I'm going to get a million fans in the Capitol, because everybody loves me. I—'"

Gaius had to cut him off when his voice became louder, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Shut up! He's gonna hear you sooner or later!" Gaius couldn't help but break out in a fit of laughter, though.

"Why the hell does he think he can just go into the Hunger Games?" Corvo wondered.

"Okay, are you seriously thinking of volunteering or something?" Rufus questioned, not amused.

"Hell no. Did you _not _hear about that Oliver dude from Five? I'm not ending up like him!"

_Corvo's wrong_, Gaius thought.

Oliver Penway's situation was different than the average victor's. He obviously had some severe psychological issues, because he wasn't as resilient as many of the others he had seen…and that was saying something. It was sad—that was for sure—but victor suicide wasn't as prevalent as one would assume. The only other time that Gaius could think of was a couple years before, in one of the outlying districts, which wasn't as controversial for some reason.

Surprisingly, Gaius had considered going into the Hunger Games before. Although he was socially an outsider, he actually came from a fairly high-status family (and was most definitely the black sheep). He was the descendant of the former mayor, who was his grandpa, and the son of a successful mine foreman.

His parents, namely his father, had strict expectations for him, which included becoming a victor. But he never became the son that they wanted. He was a premature baby and therefore was always a weak boy.

Nevertheless, Gaius was sent to the Academy at a young age, but he was still considered nothing compared to Octavian—who was a complete bastard to him.

He wasn't particularly sure why the other cadets such as his brother were all focused on combat and strength and popularity, though. If he were completely honest, he found survival skills a whole lot more relevant than any punching strategy or muscle formation.

He didn't know why the nearby districts admired _that_ but condemned something that _actually mattered_.

He had always been different, and it was time for District 2 to have a unique tribute for once. He would show them that he was so much more than a brainless Career, that the district didn't define a person.

Gaius pondered this as his friends discussed how insane Thor was.

When he was asked his take on it, he simply answered, "Yeah, he's pretty crazy."

But there was a lot Rufus and Corvo didn't know. They would find out in a day.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: And there you have it, the pre-reapings! Thank you to Known777, Glassgift, butterflygirly99, and _****__Infamouskal420 for these awesome tributes! _As I said in the previous author's note, I would hate writing twelve reapings. I know several authors that can pull it off, but I don't have the attention span to do it. The reapings will be D3 through D5. _**

**_I have pretty much all of my tributes now, except for the D5M, who is reserved. I'd like to have him in the next few days. (FYI: I'm going to be updating at least once a week.)  
><em>**

**_I noticed that several SYOT authors put questions in their author's notes, so I will do that, too._**

**_1) Who was your favorite tribute?_**

**_2) What can I work on for next time?_**

**_3) Did you get the Simpsons Movie reference in Onyx's section? _**

**_Until next chapter!_**

**_(Update 12/31: I decided to tweak something that I realized was a plot hole. Nothing really important, but it was bugging me.)_**


	3. Reapings

**Saskia Tempest, 17 - District 3 Female**

For Saskia's sixth and penultimate reaping, she donned a white dress that went down just a little below her knees. She had worn it on one other occasion, for her school's annual science fair, which she proudly took part in.

It was as if it was her good-luck charm, allowing the odds to be in her favor; she _did _end up receiving the first place ribbon for her tortuous electric circuit. On that reaping day, it gave Saskia a sense of comfort, even if it didn't last too long.

She glanced over at Maryana Kovaćić, the girl who always had her back. Saskia couldn't help but notice how stunning she looked, her hair tied up in a bun and a bright red dress that matched her own hair color.

Many people assumed that they were fraternal twins, but as long as they knew each other and as much as the two friends wanted that, they didn't share an ounce of the same blood.

When Maryana looked back at her, she commented, "I would literally rather be in Lockard's class than here." That was a Kovaćić for her. None of them were afraid to speak their minds, something practically nonexistent in the Tempest bloodline.

They were reserved—albeit affluent—people who kept to themselves, and that was the way Saskia liked it. However, she believed that was the reason why she was so close to Maryana. As the phrase went, opposites attract.

"I suppose so," Saskia responded.

"You know she's retiring this term? Lockard?"

"I think I heard that."

"Well, good riddance." Saskia gave the slight nod of the head in assent.

She soon heard the tap of a microphone, the noise booming through the square. She put her fingers up to her ears to mitigate the sound. Kiwi Celsus ascended the stage.

Even from a distance, Saskia could distinguish her by the shock of lime green. She went through the routinely greeting and wished the citizens of District 3 the best of luck. When she handed her microphone over to Mayor Young, both Saskia and Maryana tuned her out and proceeded to subtly whisper.

Saskia knew there wasn't anything she could do about the situation in Panem. There had already been two rebellions, and although there was a interregnum over a decade long, the original Hunger Games were soon restored with no mercy whatsoever.

Nevertheless, she still wondered what it was like outside of the country. Even in her geography class, they didn't teach anything about foreign lands, so it was rather enigmatic to Saskia. She would have given anything to travel the world, to come back and tell Maryana and her family about her adventures.

She wasn't sure why the government didn't focus on more diplomatic concepts, but there was a lot she didn't understand about it.

Saskia looked up just as Kiwi was about to draw the female tribute from the reaping ball. She pulled out one piece of paper and unfolded it.

"Saskia Tempest."

No. This couldn't have been happening to her. There was so much she still had to do. That afternoon, she planned on going to the park with her Aunt Electra, and maybe work on her next project. Not to mention, there was the prospect of a physics career waiting for her. Fighting to the death wasn't part of her plans.

Apparently the odds weren't in her favor.

Tears brimmed in her emerald green eyes, and she felt a swell in the back of her mouth. Without thinking, she embraced her best friend. Maryana didn't hesitate.

Saskia was then obligated to make her way to the stage.

Or rather, make her way to her impending execution. She didn't know anymore.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Bug Huxley, 18 - District 3 Male<strong>

Bug stood in shock as his name was read, completely petrified. They couldn't have been telling the truth. He barely moved a muscle. All he could do was stare at his escort, Kiwi, with all of her greenness. Even when the Peacekeepers moved near him, he remained still.

He had heard of reapings being rigged before, but he had never been alive to see one, or at least remember it. Soon, he would wake up, and it would all be a dream.

This thought was denied when he felt the force of a Peacekeeper nudging him towards the stage. Eventually, he picked up the pace, although he still felt like he wasn't completely alive. He could have been in limbo; it sure seemed like it.

He was motioned to walk up the steps, where Mayor Young, the two District 3 mentors—including that Lara, and Saskia stood. It was difficult to discern their features until he cocked his head to the right more. _Damn you, left eye!_

When Bug came into closer proximity to his district partner, he shook her hand, attempting to smile. As they did this, he felt pressure on his fingers despite the bandages on them. Maybe he shouldn't have done that lab.

Saskia broke the handshake, and they faced the crowd.

Kiwi shouted, "Here are your District Three tributes, Saskia Tempest and Bug Huxley!" Claps emanated from the audience, but he knew their actions were a far cry from what they actually believed.

He had unwittingly witnessed a protest from one of the more liberal areas of the district, following the suicide of Oliver Penway. He was appalled that Panem had gone as far as being the cause of a young man jumping to his death. They shouldn't have encouraged children to kill each other in the first place.

Bug sighed as he zoned in on the sea of people. To his right, he took notice of Gadge Huxley, whom he couldn't bring to call his father. They shared the same gray eyes, and he even had some streaks of the man's light brown hair embedded in his dark, wild mane.

No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't get away with distancing himself from Gadge. Everyone in District 3 knew who the eminent Huxley family was, and they regarded Bug as their 'adorable son', which annoyed him to no end.

Gadge wasn't helping the cause, either.

Ever since his son had entered the inventing field, following in his parents' footsteps, all he wanted from him was gadgets, gadgets, and more gadgets. Unfortunately, Bug didn't create anything particularly exemplary. Therefore, he would constantly threaten him by saying that all of the money he inherited would be gone; no more financial support; no more getting out of having a job.

Now that was the pot calling the kettle black.

While Gadge had visited the Capitol on numerous occasions, the amount of inventions he produced diminished. The family learned that he prioritized coitus with Lara Walsh, the District 3 victor of the 127th Hunger Games. That was when everything went downhill.

His mother, Demetria Bolt, filed for divorce, a rather nasty and tedious one at that. Her ex-husband then moved out.

Bug didn't create anything Capitol-worthy until seven months after the previous Games. When he did, he went there for the very first time to promote his design, accompanied by his mother.

Although the Capitolites were impressed by his laser system, they had more important matters on their hands, something else they wanted to discuss.

When they revealed that Bug would be in the next Games, his mother told him it was just a bribe, just a way to manipulate her into staying in her marriage. If she remained divorced from Gadge, then the Capitol would struggle with the technological aspect of their business, which was significantly impacted by the Huxleys'.

Demetria told him the threat was only an attempt to increase their prosperity and that they weren't being serious.

She was wrong, though. Very wrong.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Elijah "Eli" Mackerel, 16 - District 4 Male<strong>

On reaping day, the District 4 square was abundant with a dissonant combination of sounds. There were several conversations going on at once, ranging from shouts to mere whispers.

If one listened closely, they could hear the faint rattle of a set of keys. These keys were housed in the boot of Eli Mackerel, who was known for being a kleptomaniac and having a feisty disposition.

It had been a long day aboard the _Narcissus _that morning. A storm was brewing along the coast, which didn't particularly benefit the deckhand. Despite this, he managed to finish the tasks with plenty of time to spare.

Just before he left, he quickly swiped his fellow coworker's keys.

A day didn't go by without Eli stealing one thing or another. Most people on the ship were aware of his tendencies, including being a complete wiseass, but it was practically impossible to fire him, because they couldn't afford to lose someone that swift.

He couldn't help but snort with laughter (another day, another theft), even if he did receive a fair number of stares from people around him.

But it wasn't like he cared about other sixteen-year-olds. Most of them, in his honest opinion, were simpletons who didn't have a lick of common sense. He preferred the company of his adult brother, Dario, whom he lived with.

Then, Eli heard the click of Daphne's high heels, and he knew that the reaping was about to begin. She had her abnormally long and teal hair plaited into three identical braids. She cleared her throat, and the hubbub in the square was silenced immediately. Eli fixed his eyes on the stage and listened to the woman's introduction.

There was a brief history on the formation of the Hunger Games, which was told by the mayor. He discussed the first rebellion, the 'demolition' of the eventually resurged District 13, and the punishment for the districts. The history spanning over almost a century and a half was a lot more complex than what was incorporated in the speech, but no one objected.

It wasn't like anyone didn't know what happened.

Although many Panes considered the Capitol an adversary, Eli was actually very intrigued by it. As someone who was focused on aesthetics, especially shiny objects, he found their imports to be pleasing to the eye. He wasn't sure why so many people were opposed to it.

Daphne took the microphone again after the oration was completed, and she revealed that she would be reaping the male tribute first. Most years, it was the other way around, but there was always an exception or two.

The 149th Hunger Games was full of exceptions for Eli…including the fact that he was the boy being reaped.

He sauntered to the stage, barely fazed by this announcement. Apparently no one was going to volunteer for him, but whatever.

_Shit happens._

Actually, the only thing remotely concerning him was whether people could tell that he was hiding something in his boot or not. And even then, he wasn't too worried about the consequences.

_What are you gonna do about it?_

When he leaned on the wall of the stage, near Daphne, the escort shouted, "Your male tribute, Elijah—"

"Actually, it's 'Eli'," he corrected, not hesitant at all.

"Ah, yes, your District Four male tribute, Eli Mackerel!" She shook his hand. He flashed a smile and winked at her.

His charisma couldn't be avoided; rather, it was something innate about him. In the best case scenario, it would be a great advantage during the Games.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Marina Pond, 15 - District 4 Female<strong>

When Daphne read the two words which would determine her fate, Marina's heart leaped in her chest. With only four slips in the bowl, she never in a million years expected her name to be chosen.

There were so many possibilities that could have happened; a seventeen or eighteen-year-old, one of the poorer citizens in the district. She didn't have time to list them all.

She gradually moved one foot but was instinctively grabbed by Oceana. Her twin looked her right in the eye and mouthed "no".

She knew what she was going to do, and she wouldn't let it happen. Before her sister could raise her hand, Marina bolted to the front of the square. She didn't spare a minute to stop and look around, not even when she heard the shouts of "I volunteer!", which was especially difficult to tune out.

She panted, doubling over when she finally made it up the stage steps.

"MARINA!" But that was the last she heard of her sister. She gave up on her cries when she acknowledged that Marina would be going into the arena no matter what.

Marina sighed with relief, because she knew the things the government could do to rebels (including her own sister, if she continued with her protests). Although she would never state it out loud, even if her life depended on it, she believed that Panem needed a more just system.

She gazed back at the audience. The whole crowd was placid, and she could barely hear anything.

Daphne hovered over the newly reaped tribute and said, "Do you need anything? A glass of water?"

"No…thank…you," she responded in between breaths. The escort shrugged her shoulders and muttered what sounded like "suit yourself".

Despite the girl's decline, she wouldn't stop at that. Continuing the conversation, she asked, "Was that your sister?" Marina nodded her head.

A little while before the reaping, June 7th had been like any other day for the Pond family. They decided to go down to the beach. Marina's parents were proficient fishers, so they had taught their daughters a thing or two about it, which often came in handy. Marina triumphantly caught several fish that morning, impressing everyone. The family also waded in the water, splashing around and laughing.

It was just a simple day.

None of them expected that their lives would change in a matter of hours.

Marina was brought back to reality when Daphne remarked, "She's rather enthusiastic, isn't she?"

_You don't know the half of it. _She faked a laugh instead and acted like everything was okay.

The escort proceeded. "This is your district partner, _Eli _Mackerel," she stated, signaling the boy to come over to them. Marina remembered seeing him one time. It was just a glimpse, so she couldn't recall the specifics. Nevertheless, he seemed like someone who was a little on the shady side.

"Shake hands, you two." Eli stuck out his hand, smirking and raising his eyebrow when Marina shook it. Well, okay then.

Before the tributes were escorted into the Justice Building, ideas raced through Marina's head, thinking of a plan on how to conquer these Games.

She had always been decent with aquatics, especially with fishing and swimming. If she was lucky, there would be some body of water in the arena.

And District 4 was almost always in the Career alliance, so she could join them with little to no trouble.

Not to mention, both of the mentors she noted during the reaping were descendants of the Cresta-Odair family. That would be helpful, since they could give her effective pointers.

Maybe she had a chance, a chance of making it out of that arena in one piece.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Altaira Wayne, 17 - District 5 Female<strong>

Altaira Wayne was someone who knew how to stay under the radar considering her district's circumstances. Ever since Oliver Penway jumped off of the Tycho Observatory tower, it appeared to be the only thing that anyone could think about. But there was a lot she didn't know.

Nevertheless, all around her, she was drowned in chaos. On numerous occasions, she had been kept up late at night by the blazing fires from her bedroom window, the screams radiating throughout the area, and the earsplitting gunshots.

Her parents tried to steer her and Mattea away from these types of conflicts as much as possible. They raised their daughters in a serene manner, focusing on more simple aspects that weren't as controversial.

For example, Altaira had spent her whole life engrossed in the creative arts, which she couldn't imagine living without. She wasn't particularly enthralled with things like politics, though.

What opinions she did have about Panem she was surreptitious about and didn't dare to voice them. When she witnessed the riots and protests among the district, she did nothing more than seal her lips and put on her poker face.

Though she portrayed herself differently in public, she didn't particularly like what the government was doing, either. But there was nothing more she'd hate than being a target for the Capitol. She couldn't take a risk such as joining the rebels' side. It was better to lie low and not draw any attention to herself.

Altaira's philosophy was that conformity was key. When she started school over ten years before, she was a quiet and timid child who didn't have very many friends. That never changed, even when she was seventeen years old. The only reason why she would ever speak up was if someone was being disrespectful or dishonest.

Otherwise, she simply did her schoolwork and didn't interact with her classmates a whole lot.

However, there was a part of her that wanted to be with the people she saw on a daily basis. She would have given anything to have the courage to walk up to them, start a conversation, and laugh about menial things. But every time she considered approaching someone, she automatically backed down and condemned herself for getting so anxious.

All she could do was observe from the sidelines, the only way they noticed her being in her head.

On her sixth reaping, that fantasy became true, albeit not how she wanted it to go.

Altaira finally realized what just happened when the girl next to her tugged on her bright green dress. She had heard her name being called, but she couldn't process the fact that it was _actually her_. She glanced around and saw everyone staring at her, urging her to come up.

As she took in the picture, it became blurred, and the tears poured out of her eyes. Her whole body shook, crumpling to the ground. She rocked back and forth and buried her head into her knees. She didn't care that her glasses were stained from her tears, nor did she care that she would have to go up no matter what.

How likely was a volunteer in District 5, especially after the incident with Oliver?

Suddenly, she was grabbed by a group of Peacekeepers who dragged her up to the stage. Her knees skinned against the ground, but that pain was nothing compared to how she felt when being reaped. In fact, the amount of tears she shed didn't alleviate until she was dropped on the stage.

Fabian, her new escort, pulled her up from the ground, somewhat uncomfortable with the situation. If this were any other time, Altaira would be concerned with his well-being, but this wasn't a normal day.

There wouldn't be one of those for a long, long time.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Garza Grimsbane, 17 - District 5 Male<strong>

Blood. Torture. Death. These were the things that Garza would face in the 149th Hunger Games. Most tributes in his district would run away from them in the blink of an eye, but he wasn't one of them. In reality, he had inflicted these three things on a countless number of people, so it wasn't like he hadn't experienced them at all.

A faint grin formed on his face as he passed by the other seventeen-year-olds, ignoring the whispers they made.

He highly doubted he would be missed by anyone. Even the most isolated person in District 5 knew about Garza Grimsbane.

He would always be recognized as the leader of his notorious gang consisting of only three members: Kyle, Braxley, and himself. They were known for imposing fear throughout the area, doing unfathomable things to innocent people.

When people heard of the homicides and robberies they committed, they could just hope that they didn't cross their paths. The week before the reaping was an example of this, and a major one at that.

Garza thought back to this incident. He remembered the drove of people surrounding Maxim's grotesque cadaver, blood pooling out of his dismembered body and staining the concrete.

He could still hear the tremor in that woman's voice as she told him, "You…killed…my…son". In his mind, though, that pathetic boy deserved no less. He believed it was a fair punishment.

Oh, Tabitha didn't get away with the infidelity, either. He wasn't permitted to enter the hospital, but after the attack, she looked barely human. If he was lucky, she'd stay that way.

Garza mounted the stage and grinned even harder as he thought of her incarcerated in a coma for who-knows-how-long. The image of her bruised and bloodied body never failed to amuse him, and he was certain that her little bastard was as good as dead.

He was then introduced to Altaira. He automatically knew that she was no match for him. The fear was clearly displayed in her eyes, still red from her fit. She would definitely die in the bloodbath, and Garza didn't mind being the cause of it.

He cackled as he shook her hand; he got pleasure from seeing the perplexity on her face.

Suddenly, an abrupt shout came from somewhere in the audience. Definitely a young man's voice.

"Murderers! They're all murderers!" The square was dead silent as people stared at each other, trying to figure out what this meant.

"They killed Oliver! Do you wanna do the same to these guys!?" Well, apparently he wasn't talking about what Garza thought he was, despite the fact that everyone knew about_ Maxim's _homicide.

The delinquent wasn't too wrapped up in the fiasco with Oliver Penway, or even with the Capitol. All he felt towards them was complete apathy. But the others in his district didn't agree with him, obviously.

The man continued, even as the Peacekeepers gained on him.

"Yeah, let's—"

The Peacekeepers seized the man, yet he repeated the same thing over and over again. Those four words were intelligible to many, and it was something that no one in District 5 would forget.

"They killed my brother!" He didn't cease saying this, not even when one of the Peacekeepers placed his gun on his temple. Not even when he was about to pull the trigger. Not even—

Garza saw the blasted head of Oliver Penway's ostensible brother in a flash, the red fluid spurting out of it. _Very nice._ Just then, right after the bang went off, all chaos ensued.

There were shrieks all throughout the square. Several people attempted to charge the Peacekeepers and vacate the area, but those who did this met the same fate as the previous dissenter. Gunshot after gunshot occurred, overshadowing all of the other sounds. Corpses fell to the ground without any hiatus whatsoever. More blood was visible, even from Garza's side of the square.

He didn't have enough digits to count the amount of casualties. He was nothing short of amused and wanted to watch more. However, he was soon shoved into the Justice Building by Fabian, along with his district partner, who was crying once again.

And even when the door shut behind him, he could still hear the sound of pure anarchy.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Reaping chapter, done! This one was a little harder to write, so I finished later than I expected. :( But I think that next chapter won't take as long. **_

_**Thank you to IronManRidingANimbus, publicfigure, DaughterofApollo7, Glassgift, Behold The Dark Empress, and hollowman96 for their tributes! Now, time for preguntas! **_

_**1) Who is your favorite tribute out of these six?**_

_**2) What do you think about the situation in District 5?**_

**_Until next chapter..._**


	4. Justice Building

**Atticus Rockwell, 17 - District 6 Male**

Years before the fall of the Old World, a tale about justice and human rights was weaved. It described the oppression that black people had to face, as well as what other elements of this society were like. This story, _To Kill a Mockingbird_, ended up becoming rather impactful on future generations. As a matter of fact, Atticus Rockwell was the namesake of the venerated lawyer in the book, even though he was born centuries after its publication.

He understood why his mother was so intrigued by Atticus Finch. The man was everything one wanted to be. He was brave, intelligent, wise. He was level-headed and tolerant, accepting of all people. Not to mention, he stuck to his moral convictions no matter what others thought.

It was hard for the seventeen-year-old to live up to that.

He pondered this on the day he was reaped. In less than sixty minutes, he would board the train to the Capitol, eventually fighting to the death against _twenty-five _other children. Atticus had no clue on how to get out of that dilemma. He didn't even know how he would stay alive. He could only glance down at his feet in abashment, too afraid to say anything to his visitors.

Ms. Rockwell broke the awkward silence, sobbing as she tightly clutched onto her son. She trembled with her cries, and Atticus was convinced that she'd collapse on the floor sooner or later. Before he could die from asphyxiation, his aunt Jenna pulled his mother off of him. Kristine Rockwell had experienced her fair share of grief in her lifetime, and this was the pinnacle of unfortunate events. She needed nothing short of condolences, so her sister tried to calm her down. But all attempts she made were futile.

Atticus's sister, Grace, came towards him next, during this emotional breakdown. She was fourteen years old and had found her niche in her friend group, but she still played with him and their cousins, Jade and Thomas. They spent a lot of time together when Atticus didn't have to work at the truck plant. Sometimes, they played games such as chess or backgammon. They even just lounged around some days, and it was something they never thought to take for granted. Although beads of tears formed in Grace's eyes, she was more emotionally stable than her mother and simply said that she'd miss him.

Then, there was a light tap of the door. Aunt Jenna opened it, and there was Lizbeth with her shock of dark black hair. She dashed over to Atticus and kissed him on the lips. His face flushed as he took notice of his relatives staring at them. He heard Thomas say something along the lines of, "Attie has a girlfriend!", but the boy was elbowed by Jade, who was more enamored than repulsed by these things.

"I love you so much," she told him as her voice cracked and shook. The couple had been good friends for at least a decade, but they became something more after Lizbeth had the courage to ask Atticus out when they were fifteen.

In their second year of dating, Atticus's family almost had to move to the other side of the district to live closer to his grandparents. He remembered how upset his girlfriend was, but this time, it was exponentially worse.

Lizbeth pulled her topaz necklace off and handed it to him, only able to croak the word, "Here". He timidly took it from her and held it in his palm. She kissed him once again and walked over to the corner of the room, sitting down and crying to herself.

Looking around at everyone reacting to his reaping, Atticus realized how uncomfortable it made him. He was the one going into the Hunger Games, yet the people around him were the ones who seemed to be the most disquieted.

But that was only the beginning of his uneasiness.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Kalia Eliots, 15 - District 6 Female<strong>

Kalia wasn't supposed to be here. She should have been back at home with her brothers, lounging around. Instead, all five siblings were in the Justice Building, going through the same process that they did two years before. The newly selected tribute had a look of confusion in her hazel eyes.

_This can't be happening again. It's not possible. Why do I have to go?_

That's what they all believed. When Dylan Eliots came out of the arena triumphant, the others assumed they had immunity to the Games. The chances that another relative would become a tribute were next to nothing. None of them could have seen it coming, but it did.

"I'm really sorry," her nineteen-year-old brother, Asher, said.

Kalia nodded her head, indicating that she heard him. She had to prevent herself from bawling, because she would never stop. She had to keep up her sense of confidence and bravery. Getting emotional wouldn't help with the odds being in her favor.

"It's gonna be okay," her other brother, Liam, consoled. He encircled Kalia in a hug.

"Maybe," she responded, just as Liam let go of her. She decided to not say the truth, even though she was sure they all knew it. How likely was it that District 6 would have two sibling victors in a duration of two years? It had happened over eighty years ago with the twins from 1, but that was a different situation. How similar were the two districts, anyway?

"Look," Dylan added, "Those years of training weren't for nothing. Do you know how much you've improved?" The oldest Eliots, Saden, surreptitiously trained the family for the Hunger Games, so they were experts in that area. It was a risky act, but it fared them well. Especially for the victor of the 147th Games.

"I've seen you with a spear, and you're very good at it. That's nothing to be ashamed of. It'll help you a lot." But she was still full of doubt.

"You're more talented than you think, y'know that?"

"Thanks," she muttered.

He whispered, "I'll give you some more pointers when we're on the train." Dylan patted her on the back and kissed her cheek.

Saden walked over and squeezed her hand. She wasn't exactly sure how to describe their relationship, since he had been her trainer even before she was eligible for the Games. But he truly cared. That was good enough for her.

Before she could say or do anything else, her brothers were gone.

A few minutes later, her three best friends entered. Lily had tears streaming down her eyes, but Jayden and Nathan didn't display as much emotion. They saw each other almost every day, despite the fact that Kalia had been out of school for two years. Now this happened.

"This sucks." Nathan blatantly stated. "More than sucks. It—"

"You don't deserve this!" Lily wailed, "It's just not fair! Why does it have to be you?"

"Maybe things will be better than we think," Jayden said, always the mediator of the group.

"Well…Dylan _is _my mentor, which is a plus. And I know some skills already." She had started to take in what her brothers told her, even if she didn't wholeheartedly believe it yet.

"Hey, remember when you totally kicked Jayden's ass in that fight?" Nathan asked. It wasn't a 'fight' per se, but all of them found it quite amusing. Laughter filled the room. Even Lily giggled, wiping away her tears.

They segued into a conversation of more recollections, such as their mishap at the train station, and the time when Nathan tried to impress a girl he liked. How could they forget those stories? Memories after memories were resurrected, even from years before, and it was the first time that day that Kalia had been fully in the moment.

She never wanted it to end.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Wedge Bania, 18 - District 7 Male<strong>

For the first time in Wedge's life, he realized that gambling wouldn't have done him any good. He perpetually spent hours waging on his weaponry competence against the experts in District 7. Although he was proficient with knives and hatchets, compared to them, he was solely a novice. His winning streak only increased by a minuscule amount as he gambled more, and the amount of tesserae he took was the inverse. Yet it wasn't enough to get him out of the 149th Hunger Games.

"I can't believe you actually got reaped," Eila Reuter remarked. It did come as a shock, since it was his last year he was eligible. If only the escort shifted her fingers and drew another name. But he knew the Games would exist for the rest of Panem's existence, and there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was accept it for what it was. He told his girlfriend this.

"Maybe," she responded, "but why you? Why any of them?" The tribute knew who 'them' referred to, but he didn't comment on it. Some things were better left unsaid.

Eila stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against Wedge's, rubbing the faded scars on his forearms as they kissed. He knew she had no idea what he was planning to do for a while. He had saved the earnings he received from working at the lumberyards, as well as the meager amount he obtained via his gambling. This all went towards buying a ring for Eila. In two months, she'd turn eighteen, and Wedge knew it would have meant the world to her if she was proposed to on her birthday. But that idea would be delayed for quite some time.

"I love you," she announced as she eventually pulled her lips away from him.

"I love you, too." A short pause.

"Wedge?"

"Yeah?"

"You won't forget the stars, will you?"

"Not if my life depended on it." While Wedge conveyed a masculine disposition in public, he was actually rather fond of stargazing. Because of Eila, he learned to love the pastime. They started doing it almost every day, and it became an excuse for them to spend more time together.

"Listen to me, Wedge. When you're in that arena, you're going to look at the stars every night. Promise me that, all right?"

"I do."

"Just remember, even though we're miles apart, we're still under the same sky. We'll see the same stars, and we'll always be together." She gave him a wooden necklace, then pecked him right on the ear. He slipped the bauble in his pant pocket.

His family came in next. Tamia, his kid sister, practically leaped into him. She gabbled on about how he'd beat them all, but he still listened to every word she had to say. She was a truthful person, but she always looked at things optimistically, which was something Wedge admired. He couldn't deny that he had a soft spot for her.

His other sister, Caisa, was surprisingly there. When she married Ewan, she moved out of the house and took her husband's surname. He hadn't seen her as much recently.

Her goodbyes were more to-the-point and briefer than Tamia's were.

His parents were the last people to bid him his farewell. He hadn't interacted with them as much as he did in the past, but he knew they did whatever they could to make ends meet. When Wedge thought about it, if he lived on his own, he'd probably face poverty. He had to give them credit for what they did.

His parents said they'd be supportive of him no matter what happened. They (especially his father) knew the brute strength he had, chopping down trees here and there, so he doubted that they were white lying or anything. The three of them talked for a little more, and then the Bania family left.

_Well, shit.  
><em>

* * *

><p><span><strong>Corina Knightly, 18 - District 7 Female<strong>

Corina always knew how vast Panem was. She was lodged in the northwestern corner of the country, surrounded by towering trees everywhere she went, but that was all she was familiar with. While she was perfectly content with where she lived, there was so much more she wanted to venture.

On June 7th, she had gotten that opportunity. Somewhat. If she looked at things with the glass half full. Yet all she felt was fear shooting through every part of her body. Her stomach convoluted into a myriad of knots, and she felt like she was going to vomit any minute.

Then, her parents entered the room. They glanced at each other with a solemn look in their eyes.

Her mother sat on the couch and stroked her head, her fingers combing through her red hair. She swore she could have heard her whisper something along the lines of 'my sweet daughter'.

As she felt her embrace, she acknowledged how many times she had been there for her. Whenever she came home from the logging company, her mother was always the first person to greet her and ask her how things went. That wasn't the only thing she did, though. Corina could talk to her about anything in the world, and she wouldn't judge her, no matter what she shared.

For eighteen years, Corina had gone through trials and tribulations, but her mother helped her through every situation to the best of her ability. Even if she couldn't go to the Capitol with her, she'd be with her before she left. They had to make the best out of that one measly hour.

Corina felt someone touch her. She turned around and saw her father behind the couch, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her mother's.

"You can do it. I trust you." She knew he was making an effort to be heartening despite the straightforwardness in his voice, which she appreciated. Ever she started in the logging industry, Corina did endurance training to enhance her abilities and increase her success. Often times, her father would accompany her and help her out when she needed. Although she was only doing it for work reasons, she discovered that it would behoove her in the Hunger Games.

"Don't give up, okay?" She nodded her head.

None other than Courter Haven came in. He dashed over and leaned on the arm of the couch. He didn't waste a second to start talking, the words immediately pouring out of his mouth.

"You're the coolest person I know, and I'm gonna miss you a lot." He had Corina's back through thick and thin, branding them the alliterative nickname 'Courter and Corina'. There wasn't a time when the duo wasn't a thing, and both of them knew the adversity that would come with this change.

"Me, too," she replied.

They chatted some more, trying to distract their minds from the fact that one of them was going into the Hunger Games. However, that topic was inevitable, even if they talked about unrelated topics. One couldn't really avoid it.

Corina's mother then pulled something out of her pocket and gave it to her.

"Do you remember this?" she asked, her voice forlorn.

It was a piece of wood that she carved five years ago, back when she first became accustomed to logging. She rubbed her fingers over the engraved initials, retracing the 'C' and the 'K'. She always wanted to set herself apart from the others, and this included making a mark. Even if it involved a mere knick-knack she created when she was younger.

"Yes, mother. I do."

* * *

><p><span><strong>Nack Farbo, 16 - District 8 Male<strong>

Since Nack had been left by himself for quite some time, he decided to scrutinize his appearance using the mirror to his right. He was incredibly short in stature for a sixteen-year-old male, as well as scrawny. There wasn't a trace of visible muscle on his body. His facial features were sharp, his eyes were green, and he had acutely cropped Farbo red hair. Not to mention, all that remained of his left index finger was a stub.

Before Nack could make another observation, the door burst open. Sash had an astonished look on his face and wouldn't stop breaking out in spurts of laughter. He didn't know when to stop at anything, did he? The others appeared to be shocked as well, but they kept quiet.

"What is it?" Maybe Nack was asking the obvious, but the silence haunting the room was a little unnerving.

Sash responded without a second of thought. "You should've seen it! It was so—" He was then slapped by their mother.

"We're. Not. Talking. About. It," she hissed. His brother finally shut up after some petty arguing.

His twenty-year-old brother, Burton, said his goodbyes first. While Nack wasn't fixing the machines at the factory, the two spent a lot of time together. He certainly wasn't as annoying as Sash. He treated him like an actual person.

"Try hard in these Games. Do what you have to do to survive. Don't give up." Ever since they were kids, Burton tried to be the best influence on him that he could. He always gave Nack words of wisdom, even though he didn't always listen. The Peacekeepers could account for that. But when he did, things went well. Nack promised to follow through this time.

His younger sister, Lea, was next. She gave him a necklace weaved out of assorted fabrics, and he put it on. There was a wide variety of colors; it was almost like a rainbow. The siblings hugged, and Nack realized he was glad that it was him instead of her. She was so sweet and innocent, and he didn't know what would happen if she went into the Hunger Games.

Sash's farewells were uncomfortable for the both of them. They had an elaborate history of fighting, and they had enough fingers to count the times they actually got along, so they weren't really sure what to say. Their words were interspersed among several 'ums'. It must have been painful for the Farbo family to watch that. The only memorable thing that happened was Sash wishing him luck.

Fortunately, Twilly was more bearable. She was the oldest sibling at twenty-two and was mature about things. She hadn't moved out yet, but Nack knew that she was looking for a husband. They had a fairly decent relationship.

"You're one of the greatest brothers I could ask for, and you're incredible," she told him. "You'll do great."

Finally, his parents talked to him. Despite the fact that they were polar opposites in every aspect, they shared the same grief when saying their farewells. There wasn't a trace of a smile on his father's face, and his mother had calmed down a little. He felt tears fall on his white shirt, but he didn't care.

His family left shortly after that, and he was expecting RJ and Mitte to come in next.

They had been his partners in crime for a long time, roaming around with him at night. Because their risky escapades, Nack had learned how to defend himself on the streets and knew other survival skills. Those would definitely come in handy, even if the other tributes wouldn't cower at him in fear.

He stood by the door, waiting for it to open any minute.

They never came.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Cerelia Kourt, 13 - District 8 Female<strong>

The only thing Cerelia could feel was detachment. While she realized where she was—in one of the ostentatious rooms in the Justice Building—she simultaneously wasn't there. She wasn't completely aware of her surroundings and could only move with drone-like motions. For all she knew, she could have been a ghost or some other kind of spirit wandering around on Earth. It was a much better alternative to the option she was given.

After what seemed like an eternity, in came Sura Chester. She had her head down and wrung her hands.

"Hey, Cerelia," she mumbled. Although they were a year apart, they quickly became friends due to their mutual activism. Most days, Sura was a beacon of light and optimism, always sharing her feelings. However, she seemed to be as nervous as Cerelia on that reaping day.

"Is Eila coming?" She was their other friend, who was actually afflicted by extreme poverty. Eila Troy was forced to work numerous hours in a factory and knew the oppressive conditions firsthand. Needless to say, she was outspoken about it.

"They wouldn't let her," Sura solemnly responded.

"Who's 'they'?"

"I'm not supposed to talk about it." Cerelia tentatively dropped the subject, but she knew there was something her friend was hiding from her. She'd find out soon.

"This shouldn't have happened to you," Sura proceeded.

It really shouldn't have.

It was only Cerelia's second year, and she only had two slips in the reaping bowl. The odds were so low. Far less than one percent. She tried telling herself there were people who had it worse than her, but she was too anxious to think about it that way.

"I don't know what to do," Cerelia thought out loud.

"Do what you do here. Be confident and brave. For me." She nodded her head. "I can't afford to lose you. You're my best friend."

Tears welled up in both pairs of eyes, and Sura hugged her.

"You have to come back. I'll—I'll be rooting for you."

Cerelia could hear her sobs even as she left. Sura looked up to her like an older sister, and she really hoped that she could do her justice.

When her parents came in, they practically flew into the room. She was taken aback when her father picked her up.

"Things are going to get better," he consoled her, talking a mile a minute. "They will. You're capable of so many things, and I don't doubt you'll make it far. You'll be able to do it." Cerelia wasn't sure if he was convincing her or himself, but she didn't want to know the answer. He kissed her and put her down.

"Your father's right," her mother added. "You have a way with words. Use that to your advantage, all right?"

She had a point. Cerelia was a superb debater who could create a legitimate argument, especially with environmental and social issues. She had a great understanding of her society and wanted to change it for the better. Even if the people around her were single-minded and inflexible, she would never step off of her soapbox.

"But you need to be understanding of the other tributes, too. Everyone has their own story. You have no idea what they're going through," her mother continued. Cerelia nodded her head in comprehension.

When she thought about it, she attributed her activism to her parents. Both sides of her family had been poor for generations, and they didn't move up in social status until her mom and dad left home. (In fact, Caius Kourt owned a small fabric shop that was well-known in their part of the district.) They always told Cerelia to not condemn the downtrodden and penniless, but rather, think about where they were coming from.

She was appreciative of that.

"Thank you, both. For everything."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Apologies for the delayed update! I know this wasn't the most exciting chapter, either. My plan is to get a new chapter out every ten/eleven days, which averages to at least three chapters per month, since I've been pretty busy this semester. And my Wi-Fi was being a little poophead (I am very mature, I know!), so it took me an hour to paste my document here.  
><strong>_

_**1) As usual, favorite tribute?**_

_**2) What worked in this chapter?**_

_**3) What can I improve on?**_

_**4) Predictions for what happened in District 8? (I know you guys are probably really confused right now, but I'll clarify it soon.)**_

_**5) Should I make a blog for this story?**_

_**Update: Sorry, I completely forgot to thank the people who submitted this batch of tributes. Kudos to ZJB3, Krisy45, GoldenfeatherKyru, butterflygirly99, Infamouskal420, and Let's Go On An Adventure. Also, I know that there are two Eilas. Completely coincidental.**_


	5. Train Rides

**Amidian "Mid" Flinestone, 13 - District 9 Male**

When Mid was queried by his mentor, he couldn't find a single word to say, even if he racked his brain for ideas. Abigail Schroeder wasn't a woman who would take silence for an answer, so that wasn't helping Mid's case. The victor raised her eyebrow and stared at him until she got him to speak.

"Mid," she repeated, "Do you have any thoughts on your strategy?" He shook his head. "We need to think of a plan early on. It could mean the difference between life and death." She emphasized the word 'death'. Mid was a hundred percent certain that the latter would happen to him.

Ironically, he was actually a fairly positive person. Despite the merciless taunts he constantly faced due to his weight and the fear of his own government, he always wore a smile and carried on with things. No matter what happened, he would still have the support of his seventeen-year-old sister, Amethyst. But she wasn't there to defend him this time. No one was.

He told Abigail just that.

"I won't listen to that. Tell me this, Mid. What do you know?" He had a blank expression on his face. "Trust me, it'll be to your advantage."

That was easy for her to say. Everyone in the district admired Abigail Schroeder since she won the 106th Hunger Games. During her interview, she portrayed herself as an air-headed girl with little knowledge, but Panem soon learned that they couldn't be more wrong. After six treacherous days in the volcanic arena, she emerged victorious after setting up intricate traps that killed the remaining tributes. How was Mid supposed to compare with that?

"Let me help you out. What experience do you have?"

"Nothing much," he admitted. Abigail glared at him. "Well, I work—worked—on the family farm."

Sure, he knew about chickens and horses and other animals, but what good would that do? Especially compared to the Careers who could crush him to death seconds after the bloodbath commenced. He couldn't think of any arenas like his district on the top of his head, and Gildyn Hermes wasn't going to have one of those in the near future. She was far too ingenious for that idea.

"You have something there. Apply it to the Games. It's important to find your strengths as soon as possible."

"Sorry, but that's not gonna help me."

"You might surprise yourself."

"I'm gonna die no matter what. You know that." Abigail sighed and blew out. There was a moment of stillness, as if she was trying to create the perfect wording.

"I'm disappointed in you. Believe it or not, I see hope in you. You can't be a pessimist about this. I need one of you to listen to what I have to say." Mid knew that she was referring to his district partner, Erin. She escaped them as soon as she boarded the train, and he didn't have a clue where she was.

"Erin's probably a lot better than I am, anyways," he mentioned.

"You don't know that. You're not her. And so far, she hasn't proved much to me. I'm not sure what's going on with her, but she doesn't seem to be making a concerted effort. You seem perfectly capable of that." He wasn't sure what Abigail was trying to say, but he didn't ask.

"So where were we?" she asked before quickly remembering. "Ah, yes, what experience you have. If you worked on the farm, you're probably adept with nature and animals. That's much more important than hammer-throwing or whatever those kids in District Two use."

"Maybe, but—"

"Listen to me, and listen closely. Survival is key in the Hunger Games. And you can't do that unless you know how to live in the wilderness. Promise me you'll focus on that. I think it would really befit you."

Mid nodded his head as he grabbed for one of the chocolates in the nearby bowl. He didn't completely believe Abigail, but he realized that he'd have to take her word to appease her.

Maybe he was right before, and maybe optimism _was_ key.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Erin Blackwood, 14 - District 9 Female<strong>

They always said that history repeated itself. Erin confirmed this fact as she remained isolated in the very back of the train, curled up in a small ball. She could think of several instances where that was true. There had been a second rebellion in Panem around seventy years before, and it was just as unavailing as the first one, maybe even more. When she left home at ten, she thought that was the end of the abuse. Yet she still had to be aware of physical threats on the streets. However, both of these things dulled in comparison to what Erin was most concerned with.

She swore she could have seen it flash right in front of her eyes. It was as if it was the past year again, when she was forced to watch it; obligated to stare at the screen no matter how gruesome it was. She remembered every detail of that Games, although she would have given anything to remove the memories from her head for the rest of her existence.

Erin heard the countdown reverberate in her ears and the gong ringing. Twenty-six children scrambling around the arena, brutally murdering one another. Haylee bolting as far away as she could from the Cornucopia. Being chased down by the boy from 7, just barely making it out of there alive. The ceaseless fear for four days straight. Then ending in a blink of an eye, which was just pure sadism. Haylee being ripped to shreds by rabbit mutts, every part of her eaten away. The last trace of her in the 148th Hunger Games being the firing of the cannon, indicating her capitulation to the muttations.

Erin squinted her eyes, trying to eradicate the image of her friend's gruesome demise. It was a reminder that she'd have the same fate in less than a week. Was it really going to be that short of a time? She howled with despair and hopelessness as she rocked back and forth (which quickened with her increasing emotions). The scream echoed around her, bouncing in the air. From what she could see above the railing, the train was in a sizable community peppered with houses, and she noticed a few people wandering about. It was guaranteed that they could hear her, but she couldn't have cared less.

All she could think of was the fact that _it_ happened two years in a row; it made her cringe even saying the actual words in her head. Before that heinous day took her best friend away from her, everything had been familiar. They lived a decent life, at least for two homeless girls who had no money or sustenance. They still managed to get by and maintained a strong relationship. Haylee protected her like an older sister would and accepted her for who she was. They got through their hardships together and never gave up on each other. Then everything changed, and Erin was left all by herself for one whole year.

She wasn't sure if getting reaped herself was better than being in complete seclusion. Those dismal nights never seemed to end, and it became a constant struggle to live for another day. In spite of this, going into the arena and succumbing to the Capitol wouldn't be a walk in the park, either. She'd be another person dead at the hands of those brainwashed psychopaths. Yes, that prospect was very enlightening.

She was stuck in between a rock and a hard place.

As she gazed out into the horizon, she felt a sudden urge to escape; break free from the chains of her oppressive society and never have to deal with her calamities ever again. For a moment, it seemed like an easy task to leap over the balcony on the train and seek refuge in whatever district the train was passing through. But she realized that was highly improbable. The authorities would hunt her down, and she wouldn't have a chance at survival.

_Why?_

That was the question, indeed. Why had her life taken this route? What did she deserve for any of it to happen?

She couldn't think of a cohesive response.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Maeve Liifither, 16 - District 10 Female<strong>

As Maeve roamed the endless train taking her away from what she knew as home, she contemplated the notion of a promise. Two of them were made in the Justice Building only a few hours ago.

She thought of Jack, the boy she had been friends with since they were children. When they bade their farewells, he did something she hadn't expected in a million years, although she had secretly desired it for years. She could still feel the sensation of his lips on hers and remembered the four words he told her before they parted ways.

_"__I'll never forget you." _

She might have never known what Jack decided to do after she was gone, and that frightened her. All she could do was hope.

The other promise established was with her family. Maeve had to be the strong one out of the group, since she was the contender in these Games. It was imperative that she displayed her courage and determination, ergo stating that she'd try her hardest to win. But whether she came home in one piece or twelve, nothing would ever be the same for the them. She thought of her baby sister the most. Evina Liifither was born that autumn, and Maeve had a bond with her ever since they met.

She hated the thought of her growing up in a perplexing environment, living in confusion until she finally learned what the annual ritual in Panem was.

Just then, interrupted from her thoughts, she crashed into someone and toppled to the ground. She wasn't aware of her surroundings until she was flat on the floor, looking up at none other than Hiro Sasaki. The victor of the 136th Hunger Games glared at her with his dark and slanted eyes and had his arms crossed around his chest.

"Watch where you're going, bitch!"

Maeve's mouth was agape, and her blue eyes were about to pop out of her head. She knew that Hiro was infamous in the district and that it was a smart decision to steer clear of him, but she never thought he'd—it just infuriated her to say the least.

"What did you just call me? I really don't appreciate-"

"I'll call you whatever the hell I want. Now get off your ass and follow me."

Maeve propped herself up from the floor and hesitantly headed behind him, trying to keep calm. They passed through the next few cars, eventually coming face-to-face with the tall but scrawny male tribute, who was tracing his finger on the plush plate lying in front of him. Sylk, she thought his name was. He seemed eerily familiar for some reason, but she couldn't place a name on where she knew him. Maeve shrugged her shoulders and went along with it.

"Stand here," Hiro commanded, pointing to the spot in the center of the room. He scanned his eyes up and down her as she remained there in discomfort. It wasn't a perverted glance, more like saying you're-a-goner-and-won't-make-it-past-the-bloodbath, but it wasn't a pleasant circumstance in any way.

"What's your name again…Mavis?"

"Actually, it's Maeve. Good effort, though."

"_It's Maeve_," he mocked. "Do you have a last name, by any chance?"

"Liifither," she quickly responded, not taking a second to think about it. Hiro spat as he laughed, doubling over in his chair.

"You're one of _them_. Holy shit, I can't _believe it_. Life must be _so hard _for you." He gasped and put a hand over his chest.

Maeve had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Everywhere she went, people assumed that she was nothing more than a spoiled brat. Yes, she was fairly popular at her school and came from an extremely wealthy family, but that didn't mean she had her own set of problems. She was as much of a victim as the others were.

The way she saw it, everyone was human, and no one's challenges should have been minimized.

"Yeah…" he continued, "We'll have to do a lot of training. I really don't think you know what you're gonna face in the Hunger Games, princess. But you're not alone." Hiro gestured towards Sylk, who was slouched in his chair and had been ignoring them the whole time.

"I said, _you're not alone_!"

"What do you want!?" the boy partially asked, partially yelled.

"Sylk, I don't think your _dead mother_ would want you to speak to me that way, do you—" Maeve could only flinch before he chucked his plate at Hiro.

During that spontaneously abrupt moment, she finally realized who he was.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Sylk Opis, 17 - District 10 Male<strong>

Without thinking, Sylk had made his first official offense in the 149th Hunger Games. The plate he threw shattered into a million pieces, shards raining on the ground. His mentor smirked at the futile attempt and remained lounging in his chair. Maeve had just fled the scene, taking safe haven in another car.

He glanced back at Hiro, wearing that ridiculously smug expression on his face. Sylk flew towards the man, balled up his fists, and started throwing some punches. The fury was too great to think about precision, so he was attacking him in all kinds of spots, yet he didn't appear to create any good or lasting bruises.

"Whatever she taught you, it sucked," Hiro remarked.

Retaliation was much needed after that comment.

At that moment, Sylk yanked him out of the chair he was sitting in and pinned him to the floor of the train. Hiro tried to resist, but as he was somewhat small in stature, it was no easy task. The tribute beamed at his success. Anger made one capable of an infinite amount of things.

"Go to hell."

"Well, at least I'm better than your mother ever was. Or you. I_ help _the district."

That bastard knew how to hit a nerve, no doubt about that. He was the kind of person who said anything that remotely crossed his mind, and Sylk wanted to beat the shit out of him for it.

But at the same time, Hiro Sasaki had just triggered a domino effect of regrets and other emotions pent up inside of him.

It all started when his mother, Sable Opis, was crowned champion of the 120th Hunger Games. Her family originally didn't stand out economic-wise, but once she came back to District 10 victorious, they rose in the blink of an eye. The substantial earnings changed everything for them. When Sable became older, she used that money to construct a processing plant, and when she got married at twenty-four, her new husband helped her out there.

However, not everyone was thrilled with the Opises or their factory. As expected in a society such as Panem, there were inevitably dissatisfied workers. Sylk didn't remember it too vividly, since he was only five years old, but he would never forget the management station going up in flames after being firebombed. They told him that his father had gone away for a long time and probably wouldn't come back. He soon learned the truth, though, and death became a major part of his life.

Because of this, Sable spiraled downward into a deep depression. The memories of her Games were more prevailing than before, and it took a major toll on her. Even though she tried her hardest to be there for her son, sadness overshadowed her love. Ten years later, her body was found with a bottle of sleeping pills lying next to her hand.

Her plant was given to a few of the workers, one of which was the leader of the firebombing incident, but Sylk wouldn't allow this. He made a deal with the Peacekeepers, stating that they could publicly execute them if he took over the factory. They followed through, and the victor's child had the pleasure of seeing their lifeless corpses hanging from the noose.

From then on, he dominated the processing plant, being assisted by Sonia (his on-again-off-again-girlfriend), Seth (Sonia's brother), and Ulysses (a family friend who helped train Sable and Sylk to an extent). He learned how to be an efficient and strong manager, so much that he was perceived as more oppressive than his predecessors. The controversy eventually cost him severe bouts of paranoia, fear, and depression. It finally dawned on him that he could have been reaped soon, and that winter, he began relying on his friends to run the plant.

For the next six months, he spent endless nights kept awake by the prospect of his death. Sylk realized that he had destroyed the one thing he had left of his family, ruined the legacy. He had the chance, but he screwed it up. People rarely thought of Sable Opis anymore, and it didn't help that Oliver Penway had splattered his blood on public ground two weeks before the reapings. (How many protests were there when his mother died? Sylk had more than enough fingers on one hand to count.)

"Damn," Hiro observed after what seemed like an eternity, "I think I broke you. You're not gonna make it an hour in the Games."

"Then I guess it'll have to be that way."

There was a distant aura to Sylk's voice, as if he were already slipping away.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Jodi Cobbins, 18 - District 11 Female<strong>

A simple object could tell a lot about a person, have a meaningful and significant story behind it. For Jodi Cobbins, this was her locket, which she observed while in the privacy of her room. She slid her fingernail in the crease of it and popped it open, producing two silver identical hearts.

On the left side was an image of her as a young girl, one hand holding her mother's and the other holding her father's, and also standing with her grandmother. Every person had a juvenile, youthful look to their faces, but that time was long in the past. In fact, her parents were nothing more than decaying skeletons buried underground, thanks to their dissident tendencies. And her grandmother (who she lived with ever since her parents' death) had completely gray hair at the age of fifty-four.

Things had certainly changed since that picture was taken.

Jodi flitted her eyes to the right heart. This was a sepia photograph of Roark, and her own heart ached from looking at him. She always heard that mothers had an indescribable bond with their children, as if they were a part of them. Having her son, Jodi soon understood how they felt this way. Roark would turn two years old a couple months after she was reaped, and she had no idea how she would survive without him. The only upside was that he wasn't the one going into the Hunger Games.

Surprisingly, both her and his father had been selected for the undesirable.

Shortly before giving birth to Roark, her boyfriend, Jem Hoover was forced to compete in the Games. The seventeen-year-old was far from a Career tribute, but he still did his best to try and come home to his soon-to-be family. Yet that attempt wasn't successful, either.

As he placed tenth in the 147th Hunger Games, Jodi was forced to be a single mother and give birth in solitude, only assisted by her grandmother in parenting Roark. Statistically speaking, Joelle Cobbins would eventually be the sole guardian of her son. He'd be a parentless child, and sooner or later, her grandmother—

_Stop thinking that way, Jodi! _

Her conscience was correct. There were so many people that she couldn't let down. There was Aurelia, who was the serene friend. She had a soft tone to her voice and was very calm about everything, which the eighteen-year-old needed in her versatile life. Then there was Lillibeth, who never failed to make a snarky comment and applied her wit to everything. Last but not least, what about Nadiah, who brought humor and joy to the group? She was always there for Jodi when Jem died, even though she was actually his younger sister and was grieving just as much.

Jodi knew that she couldn't disregard these girls. She couldn't forget about her remaining relatives, either, which was something she especially needed to remember.

She had managed to make ends meet before she was sent away from District 11. Although it wasn't anything outstanding, it was enough for them and Roark to live, which was essential. Jodi recognized they were the top priority. With her gone and her grandmother presumably scraping the earnings she got from her part-time job at the orchard, things would inevitably change. It was going to be significantly more difficult for her family to do what they had been able to do previously, and she couldn't let that happen to them.

Jodi snapped the locket shut and lay it on the nightstand next to her bed, then pulling open the closet door. She stripped off her knee-length white dress and black shoes that she wore during the reaping in exchange for a black shirt that brought out her hair. She completed the look with a long, floral skirt. After Jodi checked herself in the mirror, she exited the room, crossing the threshold.

This was a new phase of her life—as short or long as it might have been—and it was important to start fresh. She couldn't fix what had happened to her parents or Jem or even herself, but she could do what was necessary to make things better in the here and now. And she'd learn how to do it.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Andrew Strauss, 15 - District 11 Male<strong>

When Andrew gazed at the strange yet aesthetically appealing food on the table, he had to abstain from emotionally combusting. He knew how different Capitolite culture was than his, but he never thought he'd have the opportunity to experience it. The past fifteen years of his life were spent subsisting on the meager ration his family received from tesserae and the crops they obtained from working in the fields.

This was nothing he was familiar with in the slightest bit.

"That's all you're having?" Mimi, his escort, questioned when she took notice of the so-called 'small' portions he plopped onto his plate. She was a woman with prominent feline features, and it was clear even to Andrew that her face had been surgically altered. Unless Panem made some major genetic breakthrough, he was pretty sure she wasn't born with whiskers or a triangular nose…

In response, he grumbled and gave the slight nod of his head.

"Have something more! I insist!" She went so far as to scoop up some more dishes and heave it onto the gaps on his plate, and he didn't have the time or the courage to stop her.

Nor did Jodi and Thorne utter a word about it, who simply proceeded to eat their dinners.

Well, that was predictable for someone like Thorne Hailey, who was the epitome of the strong, silent type. He made his way to victory by sneaking up on other tributes and bashing their heads in the ground, and the first time he heard the man speak was when they boarded the train.

Andrew didn't really know what Jodi was like, though. He had one brief conversation with her during their joint mentor session that afternoon, and she was the one who initiated the conversation. She seemed fairly nice and amiable, but he didn't really see them in an alliance. In fact, he couldn't fathom the thought of having an ally in general.

Suddenly, out of the blue, the widescreen television plastered to the train wall flicked on. Staring right at him was Quintus Laud, and he wanted to throw something—anything—at the screen. That joke of a president purported to speak for all Panes, but he was a complete fraud who wasn't remotely concerned with pressing issues, thus inflicting struggles on the Strausses. Laud had been elected leader four years before Andrew was born, and he wouldn't be going away anytime soon.

"Hello, Panem," he announced with that booming, charismatic voice. "At this time, I would like to broadcast the reapings for the 149th Annual Hunger Games." His angular and pale face dissolved, and then began a recap of the thirteen reapings.

Jodi was quick to notice something peculiar about two tributes in particular. The District 6 female was an Eliots, and she hypothesized that she was related to the victor of the 147th Games. When she mentioned this, there was a strange edge to her voice, as if something about that bothered her. She also realized that the District 10 male (Silk, maybe it was) had the same surname as the deceased Sable Opis. That victor wasn't discussed very much, though.

Also, he was more concerned with what had happened in Districts 5 and 8. For both reapings, the end part was censored and made this annoying beeping noise until the subsequent district popped up. Andrew was generally isolated and wasn't too into current politics, but he was moderately conscious of the situation in 5.

As if Mimi could read his mind, she said, "Oliver's brother was shot after the reaping. The square's almost destroyed now, and a lot of people were killed." She prattled on about how there were rebels in other districts, mostly the industrial ones.

"They're so screwed," Thorne mumbled.

"I don't know how things'll end up for them," Mimi added.

Before Andrew could say so himself, Jodi asked, "What about 8?"

"Well, they're one of them," the escort revealed, "I heard something about a couple kids protesting after the tributes went inside. Some of their friends, I believe. Not as bad as what happened in 5, but they're in custody now. Rumor has it one of them assaulted a Peacekeeper."

When she said this, Andrew realized that he had never lived a day of his life without witnessing unrest of some sorts. Whether it was a civilian being beaten in the square or a full-blown war, there was no peace whatsoever. Sometimes he wished that he could live a simple life with his parents and older siblings and not have to think about extrinsic factors.

That would only happen in his imagination.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Hello again, my loyal readers! Just one more chapter of introducing the tributes, and then we get to the fun stuff. Thank you for being so patient and awesome. :) Hopefully I did these tributes justice, and I'd like to thank their amazing creators: MsAir, navrina78caleo, MollieMarch, Espionage1911, FoxfaceFan1, and ZTEBladeCM11. Regarding my blog, I'm planning on setting up a Tumblr for this story, and I'll keep you guys posted on that (pun intended). **_

_**1) Who was your favorite tribute?**_

_**2) Who was your favorite mentor?**_

_**3) What do you think about the amount of tributes that have some kind of connection to the Games? (WINK, WINK)**_

_**4) What are your thoughts on President Laud so far? I know he was only there for a little bit, but I wanted to see what you guys thought.**_

**_So that, my friends, is the train rides. Katrace out._**


	6. Chariots

**Katrin "Kit" Miner, 13 - District 12 Female**

The minute Kit stepped off the platform at the train station, she was bombarded by the constant flashes of the camera and fanatical Capitolites chanting her and Kolton's names. Fortunately, her district partner seemed to receive a little more attention than she. In fact, he had to be yanked from the clutch of the crazed fans.

This was going to be an interesting few days for the two of them…

When they were finally in the safety of the Remake Center, Kit was chaperoned to the twelfth floor, to a room that was practically labeled as '12F'. Antonia, one of the District 12 mentors, opened the door for her. She was directed to sit on the wide table until her prep team arrived. She was then left all by herself, cherishing this time she had. The past day had been nothing short of overwhelming for her, and she wasn't sure what to think of it.

Her decision to volunteer was impulsive, but she assumed that she was doing the right thing. Jacob had taught her how to defend herself, so she wasn't completely inexperienced. Plus, working in the family butchery didn't hurt, either.

And she couldn't have let Petra Dean go into the arena. Her very best friend didn't deserve that. A few years ago, her own brother, Melvin, was reaped and died in the bloodbath. Kit didn't know what would happen if both Dean siblings had to go through the same thing, but what occurred in the Justice Building confused her and made her question her decision.

Since the friends were in privacy, Petra unexpectedly kissed her right on the lips, yet she claimed that she wouldn't have volunteered if the tables were turned. That statement provoked her ire, taking away any sense of respect for the girl. Kit vividly remembered the emotions she felt when she lunged at Petra and senselessly attacked her, which got so severe that the Peacekeepers had to come in and separate them. The tribute was sedated until she was carried onto the train. But Kit didn't understand why her closest friend could say something as offensive and selfish as that, even though she just—

"Oh my Panem, there she is!" shouted an elongated woman with hair dyed a shade of neon orange as she burst into the room. She had a nasally voice, like she was recovering from a cold. "I am so excited to meet you, Katrin! I'm Valeria, and these are Horatius and Bacchus." She pointed to the men on either side of her, then slammed the door shut. The trio headed towards her and immediately got to work. Valeria undid her French braid bun, her dark hair coming down in curls, and they unclothed her.

Kit felt extremely vulnerable when her prep team touched her naked body. She winced as they made a multitude of painful and awkward modifications, and she gasped when she witnessed the final product in the mirror. Her hair had been straightened, her eyebrows were thinned out, and concealer had been applied to the scars she had received from working in the butchery. Hairs were removed from all kinds of places, so much that she would probably end up looking like a featherless chicken.

Despite all of the changes, though, she still displayed the stereotypical District 12 look. She knew that her father would view her in the same way, feeling depressed as she reminded him of his Seam-born wife, who had been consumed by a fire seven years ago.

Yet she couldn't deny that she resembled her mother, with her black hair, gray eyes, and olive skin. No one, not even a bunch of ludicrous Capitolites, could take away Kit Miner's true roots. And if they somehow did, they'd pay for it.

Valeria, Horatio, and Bacchus left after making some additional touches, and then the head stylist entered. She introduced herself as Lucrezia and appeared to be more canny than her accomplices, speaking with a refined accent. For the most part, she knew what she was doing. As luck would have it, Lucrezia was nowhere near as intrusive as the others, yet it was obvious she had no idea what the districts were like.

They chatted for a short time, and after several wardrobe malfunctions and breaks in between, an advanced miner's outfit was created. The look consisted of the average mining hat and overalls, but Kit learned that when the chariot moved, a dust storm would be formed with the coal. Therefore, she was required to wear goggles. Well, she'd have to see how that would work out.

They left 12F, and Kit came face-to-face with Kolton, who emerged from the opposite room. He was wearing a matching outfit, except for the fact that it had a more masculine edge to it. The pair descended towards the bottom floor, escorted by their stylists.

As this happened, Kit finally processed what this meant: it was the official beginning of the 149th Hunger Games.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Kolton Ore, 14 - District 12 Male<strong>

Kolton had been confined to Room 12M for what seemed like a century, so when he was finally sent downstairs, it felt as if he was released from a prison cell. He took in his surroundings. Around him, he heard several strands of conversation, and it was difficult to tune in to just one of them. His ears bounced between everything from this boy arguing with his stylist to a younger girl passionately discussing why the majority of chariot outfits were harmful to the environment. But his attention span was only so short, so he turned back to his own district.

Hortensia, a pug-faced woman with droopy features, had fabricated a Capitolite-based mining outfit. That should have been right at home, as he was the son of two miners. He also figured that his stylist had done some collaboration with Kit's, since they were almost identical. Speaking of his district partner, she befuddled him a little bit. Her appearance indicated that she was from the Seam, but Kolton hadn't seen her around much. And he knew the majority of people that lived there.

Although Kit was fairly tall for someone as young as her, she was thin and weak compared to the other twenty-five contenders. He questioned how far she'd make it in the Games.

The District 12 tributes dispersed, listening to their respective advice from their stylists.

"Kolton," Hortensia piped up, "This is the moment that determines everything. First impressions are _crucial_." He nodded his head and pretended he had full interest in what she was saying.

"The Capitol is going to be staring right at you, making judgements based on how they see you in the chariot. You can't lose sight of what you're doing for even a _second_. This is what will gain you _sponsors_. It will really help you once you're in the arena." _No pressure at all_, Kolton sarcastically thought.

"You have to _embrace _your looks." She lowered her voice. "Show them your sexiness."

Did she really have to say that? It wasn't beneficial to him in any manner. Besides the fact that it could be construed as borderline pedophiliac, Kolton didn't want to think of all the other perverted Capitolites. He saw how they acted towards him at the train station, trying to grab a hold of him and acting über-obsessed. It was inevitable that he'd be one of _those _tributes, à la the late Finnick Odair.

"Well, I'll leave you be until it's time." Hortensia walked away, her high heels clicking loudly against the pavement.

Since they had about five minutes until they had to board the chariots (according to the digital clock on the other side of the 'pen'), he decided he'd wander around for a short while.

He started thinking about how much things could change in an instant.

His life before being reaped accurately represented that of a Seam kid. The Ore family resided in a small abode on the outskirts of 12, and if Kolton was perfectly frank, daily life was rather plain- even dull. It was the same routine each day: his parents would go to the mines, and he and Audrey would go to school and help around the house. Nothing was a surprise to him, but the moment he was reaped, that all changed.

Of course, he didn't think it couldn't have possibly happened. Kolton took out a notable amount of tesserae each year, so obviously, his name would be in the reaping ball more times. Fifteen times, to be precise. Looking at it objectively, he knew it was certainly possible; the odds were quite high. But it had never really occurred to him until his third reaping that he would really be selected for the Hunger Games.

From then on, Kolton accepted that nothing would be normal for he or his family. Having a flavorful and eventful life would have its costs, which he most definitely learned the hard way.

It frustrated him, though, that the government wasn't doing much to help out the bulk of people in the nation. All they cared about was the upper class; the Capitol, District 1, District 2. If they gave even half of their attention to fixing things in the districts that they did with meaningless luxury, then Kolton might have gained a smidgen of respect for them.

He then heard the resonant sound of a microphone, which squeaked a little bit.

"Would all tributes head to their chariots? All tributes, head to their chariots." He turned around and retraced the path he took. A black chariot with the number 12 painted on its front had came into view. It was powered by four horses, which was something Kolton hadn't seen too much of in his life. He ogled at the sight but was scolded by Hortensia, who wanted him in the chariot right then and there.

Kit had just boarded, too, and was on his left. Hortensia and the other stylist babbled about the logistics of their costumes. They both put on their goggles and held onto the side of the car.

Without warning, the horses began moving, leaving the Remake Center in favor of the vast streets of the Capitol.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Phionex Blaze, 12 - District 13 Female<strong>

Phionex fumbled with the graphite bracelets firmly wrapped around her wrists as the chariot rolled through the City Circle. Along with the ornamentation, she had on a gray dress that further represented her district's industry, which she didn't ever want to see again. And more importantly, she was still enraged that she had been forced to volunteer at her very first reaping.

She didn't do what they accused her of. She was absolutely positive she was innocent, and she had the urge to scream and disintegrate when she thought about it. Head Peacekeeper Gnaeus had invited himself into her house, shooting scores of false claims at her. He screamed about how she was the one who pilfered some of his classified documents, how he had seen her wandering around before.

On the contrary, Phionex wasn't even aware about this until she was interrogated. Yet Gnaeus wouldn't listen to a word she had to say. Before he left, he inflicted a great amount fear on the family after he demanded that she volunteer the next day.

"Or else," he threatened, "the consequences will be severe."

So that was why Phionex was forced to shout those two fatal words when that day came. Authority was so darn manipulative, though, and she realized that she had let them win no matter what. The government always found a way to persecute her district. To think that 13 had controlled all of Panem at one time, and look at what they were now!

Dal rudely coughed and alerted her to look up, since she was on the verge of falling out of the chariot; she grabbed the handlebar and adjusted herself.

That was the first exchange they had made in the past two days. From what she could tell, her district partner was as emotionless as a rock. It was amusing that his stylist had actually dressed him up as one. His facial expressions were completely neutral, his dark eyes showing no feelings. She made a note to be wary of him. It was also important to mention that he was also a volunteer, but Phionex doubted it was for the same reason as her.

Decimus was making his announcements and chatting with Julius Flickerman during this time, but Phionex was far more focused on her opponents. As the chariots lined up and reached their destination, she could get a good glance at them on the colossal screen.

The pair from District 1 definitely diverged from the norm in many aspects, especially the blue-haired male. She glanced over at him. He was sporting a black bodysuit pouring with liquid metal, and she could see that there were several stones on it. The female was a redhead and wore a long dress, along with a tiara, resembling some sort of royalty.

District 2's female was clothed in a stone-print dress and had a headpiece that corresponded with it, while the male had on some armor that went well with his dirty blond hair. Although their outfits were clearly trying to give off the impression of imposing, there was something about the latter tribute that struck Phionex as slightly odd.

The District 3 boy appeared to be both intelligent and seductive, with his exposed chest, the wires decorating his outfit, and the silver color scheme. Phionex assumed he was supposed to represent a computer. The girl was also _electrifying_. She had a dress with these colorful lights attached to the skirt, but she couldn't place a name on what they were called. That's what Phionex got for living in one of the poorer districts.

She proceeded to take notes of the nine other districts, determining possible threats and alliances. Besides the Careers and Dal, the boys from 5 and 7 struck her as shady. But there were also some tributes who seemed like they had good intentions. She made sure to remember about those ones.

Just then, President Laud's face appeared on the screen. It was even more intimidating when she could discern all of his fair and 'angelic' features as clear as a bell.

"Congratulations to our twenty-six tributes in the 149th Annual Hunger Games! I know we are all looking forward to another year of festivities—" he rambled about how great the Hunger Games were— "…and I wish each and every one of you the best of luck. May the odds be ever in your favor."

Phionex knew that Laud didn't mean a single word in his speech, but for some reason, the Capitol venerated him to no end. They produced ear-splitting screams after he finished speaking, and she was so irked that she could have kicked someone. Why were some people so brainwashed? If he was truly a good president, then she would have never had to face the reapings in the first place; the Hunger Games would have ended a long time ago.

But hypothetical situations were only hypotheticals, and nothing more.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Dalibor "Dal" Martius, 18 - District 13 Male<strong>

Dal Martius had a mission to accomplish, and every step was extremely crucial. The first part of his agenda required him to stay in the Training Center lobby after most people had left, and get acquainted with his soon-to-be alliance. There was only one way to climb up the political ladder in a place as patronizing as District 13: show what he was capable of outside of its boundaries. And Dal would do anything to become a future victor and mentor, including joining the Careers.

He lurked in a corner, waiting for the group to pass by. Each year, he was intrigued by this union of upper-class tributes. Dal could surely compare to them with strength, enhanced by years of graphite mining and personal training. If he grew up in one of their districts, he'd blend right in. They couldn't say no to that.

And their objectivity always took them really far; they'd never be thwarted by something as petty as sympathy, instead managing to make hoards of kills. Thoughts always came before feelings for both them and Dal.

But while the Careers were more Ts than Fs, that didn't mean they were geniuses. None of the ones Dal watched in previous Games had the same acute sense of observation or precise logic that he had himself. He knew he could easily demolish the current six tributes he'd ally with. Although different than usual regarding appearance, Dal could assume they'd have a similar philosophy to the average Career.

"Onyx, come on!" Dal's ears perked up, and he could see them come into his field of vision. He had a good vantage point, not too far away, but not so close as to be considered a stalker. Onyx stood farther behind the cluster, his arms crossed around his chest. Glisten was coaxing him.

"Would you stop being so difficult?"

"Leave me alone!"

Another voice was added to the conversation.

"I won't put up with this," Raquel, the girl from District 2 growled. "This isn't what I volunteered for."

"Good, because I'm not gonna be a part of your crap-ass 'alliance'." Onyx put finger quotes around the last word.

"Wait! When did you decide that?" Glisten exclaimed.

"I never wanted to be with you guys. Fuck you all." Onyx shoved past her and the other Careers right after dropping that obscenity, heading towards the elevator. A car came down seconds after he pressed the button, and he stepped in. He was out of sight that fast. The remaining tributes glanced at each other in shock, from what Dal could see.

"I can't believe him!" Glisten shrieked. "Do you see what he just did? He _will _get it." Raquel put a hand on her shoulder and said something along the lines of, "Don't worry, we'll take care of that." Well, a leader seemed to be chosen early on.

After a long pause, the mermanesque boy, Elijah, made a caustic remark to break the awkward silence.

"We're down to five now," he snorted.

This was Dal's chance to intercept and join the alliance! He spoke the first words that came to mind, making sure his voice would carry.

"Not for long." Elijah jumped and noticed him standing in the corner, as did the others.

He began to speak.

"Dal Martius, District Thirteen," he introduced himself. "Your _sixth_ Career tribute."

"So, what makes you think you can invite yourself here?" Raquel asked.

"I think you underestimate my abilities." He scanned the lobby for any heavy objects nearby and caught sight of a chair. It was firmly set on the ground, so it would be a feat for most people to pick up. But all those years of practice had benefited him. Dal walked over, hoisted it up, and heaved it a couple of feet away. It made a deafening _thud _against the tiles.

The scattered Avoxes and other workers stared at him, and to further elucidate his strengths, he gestured for one of them to come over. Dal grabbed onto his arms and slammed him against the wall for almost five minutes. When he turned around, all of the Careers were taken aback. Dal felt a sense of glee inside of him. Even Gaius and Marina, who hadn't talked at all during this time, tried to catch their breath.

This type of reaction would be an asset in the Games…

Dal then let go of the Avox and pushed him away, completely ignoring the fear shown on his face.

He nodded at his allies.

"I would highly recommend that you consider me as a Career. Have a good night." He left them hanging, and he entered the elevator. As the car ascended to the thirteenth floor, Dal mused on the fact that he could surpass the most famous political figure in District 13.

That was none other than Alma Coin.

After surviving an assassination attempt made by notorious District 12 victor Katniss Everdeen—and banishing the rebel—she became the president of Panem for thirteen years. She established the Capitol Games, where Capitolite children were forced to compete in the same tournament as the district children were. However, she was poisoned by a Snowist group shortly after the 89th Hunger Games, and the interregnum was terminated. District 13 had a fundamentally totalitarian rule after that.

Dal's intuition told him that he'd rise above the masses, and that he'd easily surpass Coin. A small chuckle emerged from his mouth as he reminded himself of this truth.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Laud Mansion, The Capitol<em>**

Gildyn Hermes stood just outside the pretentious estate that housed the most important man in Panem. She combed her frizzy purple hair with her fingers and clutched onto her precious notebook. Several of the papers were bent, and the spiral that bound them together had begun to uncoil.

She fiddled with it but decided to leave it be and ring the damn doorbell already. An Avox appeared, and she escorted her to President Laud's sizable office. She rapped at the door, but not long after did he command:

"Let her in." The Head Gamemaker entered the office, and Laud got out of his chair to greet her. He gave her a firm handshake, one that made her internally cringe.

"Please, do take a seat, Gildyn."

"I believe we have some important matters to discuss."

"Yes, sir."

"You watched and remembered the reapings, didn't you?" She confirmed this. "The you know about the unrest in Five and Eight." Gildyn was one of the few people who had access to the uncensored reapings, so she had seen the protests and bloodshed in all of its glory.

"What—what would you like for me to do about it?"

"I want you to take that into consideration during the Games. We have to stop these imbeciles as soon as possible." What would the public say if they heard Laud use that type of rhetoric? Gildyn could only wonder.

"And you may want to see this, too." Laud slipped a sheet of paper towards her, five names written in his hurried scrawl. There was another one that was scratched out, but she could still detect it beneath the heavy lines drawn over it. Her eyes skimmed the completely visible ones.

_Bug Huxley. Kalia Eliots. Erin Blackwood. Sylk Opis. Jodi Cobbins.  
><em>

"What do these tributes have in common?" Before Gildyn started to respond, he answered for her. "Every year, as you may know, a few reapings are rigged."

"I see the pattern, President Laud."

"You're a smart woman." He clucked his tongue and returned to the previous topic. "If the opposition in Five and Eight isn't crushed soon—" he raised an eyebrow— "There's always a Plan B. Remember, Gildyn, to focus on them. Many of these tributes have a checkered past with the Hunger Games, and I have no question that you'll bring them to their knees."

"I will do that."

"I trust you." If she wasn't over-analyzing things again, there might have been an undertone to his voice, something that slightly suggested the contrary. Gildyn had to stick to her word, or else.

She then stuffed the list into her notebook and began to shuffle, as the conversation had started to dwindle down.

"Don't leave so soon. I still need to see your design." Oh, right! Gildyn flipped the page to her blueprint of the arena. Laud observed every feature, making 'hmms' and nods.

"Very…versatile, shall I say?" She automatically figured out what he was referring to. Simplicity was boring concerning the arena. For the 148th Hunger Games, she had assembled a mega board game, which was received positively. Hopefully her idea this year would have the same, if not exceeding, amount of feedback.

"Continue with your work. I believe it has great potential. So, we'll meet again tomorrow?"

"Ten o'clock, yes?" she promptly replied.

"On the dot." He told her one last thing before she left. "You haven't failed me yet, Gildyn. Let's have it stay that way."

_Let's have it stay that way. _If Gildyn was lucky enough.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Finally, I got all of the tributes' POVs. Originally, I was going to have this chapter be called 'Entrance To The Capitol', but then I realized that it would be too similar to the train rides. I hope you guys were okay with my alternate plan. Fortunately, I was able to update faster this week, which was ironic given the circumstances yesterday. Well, at least that's fixed. :) **_

_**Thanks to publicfigure, Annabeth-TheTributeThatLived, DaughterofApollo7, and screening for the last round of tributes. **_

**_Now, question time!_**

**_1) As usual, who was your favorite tribute?_**

**_2) What can I improve on?_**

**_3) What do you think of the Career alliance so far? _**

**_4) How do you like Gildyn Hermes?  
><em>**

**_5) Did you predict that the reapings were rigged? _**

**_6) Any predictions for the arena? (I'm so excited to see what you guys think!)_**

**_7) How do you like my AU? _**


	7. Training Day I

**Raquel Byron, 18 - District 2 Female**

She raced down the corridor leading to the Training Center, trying with all her might to maintain her composure, her blood boiling as she quickened in pace. It was incredulous that it happened so fast. It was challenging to process everything, but Raquel Byron knew one thing for sure. She had been betrayed.

Just twelve hours after the tributes had met each other, there were already two instances of Career abandonment. After Onyx unsubtly left the group, she assumed that the alliance was set in stone. She even believed so when she woke up for her first day of training. Au contraire, once she was in the elevator with her district partner, her plan was demolished.

Gaius specifically told her that he couldn't, and wouldn't, affiliate himself with them.

Maybe Raquel should have seen it coming. If she was honest, he didn't strike her as someone who would conform that easily, nothing at all like his brother. At the reapings, he illicitly stood in the twelve-year-old section so he'd get to the stage first instead of Thor (she finally remembered his name). And even before that, what she had seen of him at her mother's Academy was complete detachment and rebelliousness.

It still exasperated her, however. People like Gaius and Onyx would make the Career alliance this year into a travesty that her family would scorn her for.

She had all but one choice on how to fix things, before it was too late.

Raquel reached her destination and flung the doors open. The four other Careers stood in what resembled a semicircle. They waved at her when they heard her enter. She headed over to them, acknowledging that she'd have to get right to business if she wanted her idea to work.

"Where's Gaius?" Glisten immediately asked.

Raquel took a deep breath and reminded herself of the three C's. Calm, cool, and collected was the name of the game.

"He will not be a part of the Careers anymore."

"Him, too? Oh boy, this is gonna be one helluva game." Once again, there was Eli failing to hold his tongue. He was definitely the snarky one.

The allies glared at him, particularly Dal. The newest Career was someone who was sure of himself—a little too sure, in fact. Raquel wasn't certain about her opinions on the District 13 male, but she couldn't afford to lose him after he had revealed his great strength.

"How are we going to deal with this?" Marina wondered in her soft voice. Raquel hadn't heard much from her for the time they had been in the Capitol. Hopefully, that would change. She clearly showed great determination even from the District 4 reaping, refusing to let her sister volunteer. Raquel decided that she'd keep her.

"Simple," she responded, "We'll hold tryouts for the final tribute—or tributes—whichever one it is."

"We're doing _tryouts_?" Eli mocked. "Yeah, that'll work real well."

Raquel knew she didn't have much of an option, that she had to do anything to consolidate the Careers. She had seen a fair amount of Games where they disbanded within the first few days, and she wouldn't let that happen in her year. There had to be at least one tribute out there who had great potential. A strong alliance also meant a clearer path to victory.

She considered telling Eli her thoughts, but she decided on saying something more concise and less personal.

"Just bear with me. I know what I'm doing."

She waited until the last of the tributes shuffled in and got situated. Raquel surveyed the room and made some primitive observations on her opponents. There was a mixture of responses from them; some had already formed alliances, while others wandered around like lost dogs.

Olympus, the head trainer, stated the rules and logistics of the center. Then, he left everyone to their business.

"All right, guys," she commanded after coming back into focus, "I'll handle most of the tryouts, but I want you all to take notes, too. We'll collaborate after and make our decisions then." They nodded their heads. Raquel cleared her throat and headed towards the center of the room.

Persuasion was everything, and she couldn't mess this one up.

"Attention! At this time, we will be having tryouts for the last of the Career alliance. Please come over if you are interested." What she had to say seemed to go over most of the tributes' heads, but there were a few who listened.

The first one was the girl from District 6, who had her hair in chestnut ringlets. Raquel remembered that she was the younger sister of victor Dylan Eliots. Kalia, she believed it was.

She retrieved a spear from the respective station. She then went over to the simulator and tried to combat the hologram, which was formed out of computerized cubes. Kalia barely beat him, and when she did, she was incredibly worn out. Raquel had her doubts about her.

The next one was also related to a victor, Sylk Opis from District 10. Raquel knew his mother overdosed a couple of years back, but it hardly made the news- not at all like Oliver Penway's suicide did. The victors from the outlying districts befuddled her, though.

Sylk picked up five daggers and found a target on the right side of the room, aiming for the dead center. One hit a couple millimeters away from the bull's-eye, three of them were on opposing sides, and the last one had dropped onto the floor. Raquel voiced an "mm-hm" and dismissed him. A little too skinny for her liking….

The final tribute was Bug Huxley, the District 3 male. He had gray and wide eyes akin to a bug, presumably hence the name, and Raquel had to admit that he was kind of attractive with his messy dark hair and tall figure.

His preferred weapon was a knife, which he actually wielded quite well. Most of the tributes from his district were all brain and no brawn, but Bug was certainly an exception. The majority of the knives hit right on target or came really close to it.

The five Careers gathered after the tryouts were over and came to a consensus that Bug was the best candidate. They gestured for him to come over, welcoming him to the officially formed union; one that would last for the bulk of the Games with luck.

And more importantly, an alliance that would make her mother genuinely proud for once. Raquel couldn't let her down.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Wedge Bania, 18 - District 7 Male<strong>

When Wedge noticed the woodpile on the far side of the Training Center, his face lit up. There were certain advantages to living in certain districts, and he knew that this was a benefit to District 7. Everyone associated lumber with it, for a good reason, and it would especially help him during the 149th Hunger Games.

Score, indeed.

The district partners located the axes fairly quickly, but the wood was more difficult to discern. No one had gone over to that station, as it was in an isolated, secluded area of the room. They made a beeline towards that corner with their weapons in tow. Now the two could actually do something useful, not just chopping at random things.

There was a pamphlet lying a few feet to their left. The cover read 'Shelter and the Hunger Games'.

"You actually know anything about building shelter?" Corina asked him. Wedge made a snort, since it was quite the opposite. He was an expert when it came to physical skills and weaponry, but he was lacking in the survival department. Learning about that was essential for the upcoming few days, being shipped to some desolate place in the middle of nowhere.

"We'll definitely need this, then." She thumbed through the book until she found something pertinent to their specific situation. "Aha, 'Logging and Shelter'. That should be right up our alley. For Panem's sake, let there be some trees in the arena!"

If Gildyn created something like she did for the 148th Games….

"So what does it say?"

Corina held up a finger, her eyes skimming the page and mumbling phrases to herself. After she finished reading the section, she looked up at Wedge.

"According to this," she quoted the pamphlet, "'A sturdy foundation is crucial to your shelter. It's important to plan everything out before you start on construction, and this is one of the key parts. Start at the bottom, and then you can make your way to the top. We will be discussing this regarding a wooden base, with a several-part plan that may guide you once the Games begin.' I didn't think they'd be this nice. Let's see how that works out." Corina proceeded to read each step, and the tributes analyzed each one with caution.

"You know, we should probably get cracking on our shelter. We can read along the way," Wedge finally blurted.

"Sure thing, I guess."

They sorted wood into piles, spreading it out across the station. Wedge picked up his axe and first focused on a log that was a little over four feet long. Making a fair estimate, he made a swing right down the middle, chopping it through the bark. It made a louder sound that he would have liked it to, which grabbed the attention of several tributes in close proximity. He shrugged it off but tried to be mindful of this for future reference.

Wedge was well-aware that he wasn't the most discreet contender, as he was the largest out of the twenty-six, and also made a lot of noise. It was something instinctive that came with the time he spent on his father's logging crew, going on what would have been his seventh year of it. He always prioritized getting the job done, not thinking much of how others would notice it.

But Wedge knew he needed to focus on that during the Games. Although it wasn't fully formed, he had a good idea on how he would escape the bloodbath, and he'd have to be elusive and efficient about it.

After he made a few chops, Corina lined up her axe and mirrored his actions from the other side. He could tell that she would be a loyal ally. She gave off the impression of someone who seriously cared about doing well in the Hunger Games, and she never complained about things.

When they were on the seventh floor of the Training Center after the chariot rides, they agreed to form an alliance. It was a simple one, since they had already gotten to know each other well, and it was pretty much a given that district partners don't betray one another. Corina and Wedge stayed true to their word, meeting up the next day and beginning to train together.

It got easier for them to slice through the wood, and they formed a rhythm in a sense. They managed to reshape many logs, thinning them out and forming several dents in them. Wedge wiped the perspiration off of his head and grazed the stubble on his head. Corina noticed his minor break, and she decided to initiate a conversation.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess and say that you worked with lumber back at home," she observed.

"Yeah, Northeastern."

"Oh," she replied, "I'm in the north_western _section." They advanced on their work chatted more about their unique experiences in the logging industry (mostly Corina, but Wedge added a little). This reminded him of Sho.

They had been partners for years, appearing to be complete antitheses of each other. The boy grew up without a family, thus not bearing a last name, and physically contrasted Wedge. Nonetheless, they still got the job done, and a decent one at that.

Wedge would never know why he didn't come to the Justice Building. It was just another question that would remain unanswered.

"I think we're finished!" Corina suddenly exclaimed, examining the foundation and drawing Wedge out of the memory. "The pamphlet says we need to build around it now."

"Should be easy." They heaved the logs and matched up the curved indentations, similar to a jigsaw puzzle. This wasn't a strenuous task for Corina nor Wedge, and they formed several layers before Olympus announced that it was time for lunch.

"Guess we should hit the hay for now."

They left their project be and headed over to the cafeteria. But just as they reached the other side of the center, Wedge heard something collapse. Even from that distance, he could see the fallen logs. He growled and balled up his fists.

"Well, we can get back to work after lunch," Corina consoled. This did not help Wedge's cause. He wondered why life had to be so unpredictable.

Why couldn't it just go as planned for once?

* * *

><p><span><strong>Cerelia Kourt, 13 - District 8 Female<strong>

As Cerelia stared at the plants in front of her, she thought of how much she had been deprived of nature back in District 8. Of course, being an industrial district, the flora and fauna was obscured by the factories on every street corner. It was depressing to say that already she saw more of the environment in the Capitol—and that was the epitome of phoniness.

For her first day of training, Cerelia had ventured to as many stations as she could. Before they were dismissed for lunch, she tried out the climbing wall, sword fighting, and much more. But when they returned, she decided to go over to the plant section, which was by far her favorite.

There was a label and a description on each specific plant, written in a miniature font. Cerelia carefully read every one, her mind enriched with the new discoveries she made. She particularly found the daylily (or _Hemerocallis_) enthralling with its bright orange petals, but all of them appealed to her in one way or another.

When she let the facts sink into her mind and thought that she memorized the majority of them, Cerelia moved over to the monitor so she could take the test. Images popped up of what she had seen before. Then the descriptions that were attached to the plants emerged as well. She placed her pointer finger on the screen and dragged one of the definitions next to the picture, repeating this process forty-nine more times.

After she matched up the last pair, her score appeared. She received a forty-six out of fifty, getting an ninety-four percent. Cerelia made note of which ones she missed and began to exit the test screen and—

"You're really good at that." She turned around to see the dark-skinned, hazel-eyed female from District 11 a few feet behind her, nodding her head in approval. The young woman had a silver locket hung around her neck, which glinted with the overhead light.

"Oh, hi there. What's your name again?"

"Jodi. Cerelia, right?"

"Yup. Nice to meet you." Jodi fiddled with her necklace. "So…did you already know a lot about plants?"

"I wish. District Eight's really bad about the environment; there's so much pollution."

"From the factories?"

"Yes. It's so frustrating that no one cares about it. They only think about making more products, but they don't realize the cost of that. I try telling people to listen, and I won't stop until they do. It disappoints me that people won't even consider the well-being of nature, which is _right in their district_. But no one really gets to see it, because it's getting destroyed by the minute. I really wish the mayor would do more about it, you know?"

"I haven't really thought about it much, but I guess you have a point."

"Well, you have all those crops in Eleven. Consider yourself lucky."

"How old are you, Cerelia?"

"Thirteen. Why?"

"No reason." Jodi paused before asking, "Would you…like to be part of my alliance?" This was a moment that could determine everything for Cerelia, establish a specific path of events from then on. She realized that she might never have had that opportunity again, to be offered an ally request. It could hasten her death date and possibly save her life. It would be unwise to turn down a proposal like that.

"I'd love to."

"All right, then. Let me introduce you to your other ally."

Jodi took her hand and led her to a couple stations over, where they saw the raven-haired girl from District 10—Cerelia thought. She remembered her wearing a cow-print halter dress the night before.

As the survival stations were quite extensive, the girl was beginning a fire, although the sticks had not caught aflame yet.

"Cerelia, this is Maeve. Maeve, Cerelia." Maeve's face became visible when she looked up, and she automatically greeted her. She gripped her hand, shaking it.

"It's so nice to meet you, Cerelia. I'm so excited to be your ally." Maeve's fair face beamed with joy as she spoke these words. "Which district are you from again?"

"Eight."

"Well, I'm glad to know you. It's—"

"Uh…Maeve," Jodi interrupted, "You should probably watch the fire." Maeve giggled and turned back around. A couple sparks had formed, Cerelia noticed, and it soon turned into larger flames. She flinched, moving about a foot away.

"Want me to take over?" Jodi suggested.

"That'd probably be good."

Cerelia learned that they had been given a crash course on fire-building before Jodi approached her, but she could tell that Maeve hadn't gotten the hang of it yet. The tributes then swapped places.

"How do you like the Capitol so far?" Maeve asked.

"It's okay." _But they need to bring about more reforms, stuff that could actually help the districts. _Jodi then said that she needed assistance at the fire. The thirteen-year-old kneeled by the fire and listened to her ally skim over the fundamentals of the task for future reference. They monitored the flames so they wouldn't get out of control.

When it had sustained for a while, they finally put out the fire and cleaned up around them. Maeve went over to help them finish the process.

Jodi gasped as if something came to recollection.

"Cerelia, I'm really sorry about your friend." _Wait, what? _

"What do you mean?"

"Er…after the reapings. With the protest." That's when everything clicked for her. On the train ride, during the recap, Cerelia saw that the very end of the District 8 reaping was censored. Her mentors didn't utter a word about what had happened, even when she and Nack pressed them for information. And it was mysterious how Eila hadn't shown up to say goodbye...

Cerelia had questioned this situation earlier, as it seemed too eery to be a coincidence, and now she knew for sure. Whatever had happened right after she was escorted into the Justice Building, she recognized that Eila was involved with it.

"I appreciate that."

"You know, Jodi and I will always be here for you," Maeve said. "It'll all be okay."

Cerelia wasn't certain about that, but she had to have a strand of hope—even if it was a meager one.

* * *

><p><span><strong>Onyx "Nyx" Tourmaline, 17 - District 1 Male<strong>

Nyx headed over to the massive pile of knives encircled by a long strand of duct tape. There was a wide variety of them, everything from pocket knives to what were practically short swords. He zoned in on the larger types, selecting one with a blade that would probably slice through anything. Nyx grabbed the smooth handle and was about to choose a target on the long wall, when he saw them.

Next to each other, flinging knives five posts over, were Glisten and the newly recruited Career from District 3. Ever since he profoundly abandoned the group, his district partner gave him crap for it. He wasn't oblivious to the whispers she made to their mentors when he was around, the death glares she shot at him when no one was looking. But despite Margaux's lecture about how allying with her could 'save his life', Nyx wouldn't have any of it.

He was quick to realize what pathetic a joke the Hunger Games was. When he was dare to volunteer, he viewed it as nothing more than another rebellious challenge. However, his mindset changed once he entered the Justice Building. He should have known that it would be no different than the materialistic society that was imposed on him, the one he tried to avoid at all costs.

Meeting the Careers, he automatically knew they subscribed to this belief. They were uncannily similar to Flourish and Platinum, who were the embodiments of the stereotypical District 1 citizen. They were rich, spoiled brats who cared about the most ridiculous things. Nyx could barely distinguish between his brothers and his former allies.

He hated those Careers with a burning passion—two in particular.

Glisten was an annoying bitch who constantly reiterated how amazing she _thought _she was. He saw her kissing up to everyone on the train, and he had a strong desire to chuck her out the window and never look at her again. She was a selfish girl who'd get pissed if things didn't go her way. Nyx was disgusted at the thought of being her ally.

Then there was Raquel, who bossed everyone around and acted like she owned the place. When she hosted 'Career tryouts' earlier that day, Nyx almost vomited on the spot. Plus, after the boy from 3 was accepted into the alliance, he overheard Raquel saying that no one would be permitted to leave. What were they, a cult?

It appeared that her district partner had left the group some time after he did, since he wasn't around them. Well, good for him.

Nyx found it comical that two tributes from non-Career districts took their places. It just went to show how much of losers they all were, not able to get many people to like them.

He didn't remotely regret his decision. There wasn't a chance in hell he'd affiliate with such people.

Nyx darted his eyes between the knife and the target, about to throw it, but not before—

"Look who it is!" He heard the sound of Glisten's distinct voice much closer than he would have wanted. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she stomped her foot. To her left was the District 3 male, who had a mostly neutral expression plastered on his face.

"I can't believe I didn't see you there before. Bug, this is my district partner, Onyx."

_This is my district partner, Onyx. _

Every time he was called by his real name, Nyx wanted to strangle someone. It was a not-so-friendly reminder that no matter how much he tried to evade his family's affluent lifestyle, he was still a Tourmaline. That would always separate him from his followers, as they were brought up in more humble homes. In a way, he envied them.

"Don't call me that."

"I have no idea what you go by. But I do know that you're a _traitor_." Bug mouthed something to Glisten, and she affirmed. "Bug wanted to know if you were the one who abandoned us last night."

"Do you think I care what he wants to know? We're not allies, so it doesn't mean shit."

Glisten's face twisted in fury at this, and she moved towards Nyx. She grabbed his left hand—the one that wasn't holding the knife—giving him her infamous glare. But he remained calm, not even slightly affected by her actions.

"Don't think you can get away with this, Onyx Tourmaline. I worked hard for the Games—I went to the _Academy_. What did you do? You think you're some great hero for cussing us out last night? Well, let me tell you this. I knew who you were even before you volunteered, and you're nothing more than a troublemaker. You know, we don't need someone like you in our alliance. We're much better without you. Have fun in the arena." Nyx could hear her mutter 'dying' under her breath.

"Come on, Bug," she finally said, letting go of her grip. The two turned around and left Nyx to himself.

_Hmph. _

He didn't need to be with them, either. In fact, he wasn't going to ally with _anyone_. Alliances were stupid. They always led to tributes' downfalls every single year. This was a one-man band, and he would keep it that way.

He refocused on the target in front of him, staring right into the dead center. A vision was formed inside his mind, and he couldn't get rid of it. He imagined Glisten standing right in front of it. The adversarial feelings were clearly mutual, so there wouldn't be any issues there.

Then it morphed into Malachite, that bastard who constantly underestimated Nyx's abilities. This was all his fault in the first place. In the best case scenario, Nyx would make fun of the karma coming after him for the next Hunger Games. Whether he was a victor or a ghost, it would be amusing either way.

Thoughts clouded Nyx's head about all kinds of people he hated: those spoiled phonies back at home, the Peacekeepers who mercilessly beat him the day before the reaping—everyone. That anger transferred to his hand clutching the knife. He gritted his teeth, the rage dominating him.

He released the weapon and watched it soar.

It landed directly on the bull's-eye.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Hello again! I hope you all are having a good morning/afternoon/evening/whatever. I know that this chapter was a little delayed, but there's been a lot of stuff going on in my life. For all of you who aren't on Caesar's Palace (which I'm assuming is the majority), my dad has been in the hospital since Tuesday. I won't go into detail about what happened, though he was really, really sick there for a little while. He's recovering, but the doctors won't discharge him until they're sure he's better. It sucks, because my brother and I can't visit him. Hopefully he'll be back home sooner or later. **_

_**Also, it's not helping that I have a lot of long-term assignments due next week as well my final bowling tournament. Well, let's see how that goes. :/**_

_**I can't think of any questions today, but please give me feedback nonetheless. Even though I'm not doing a sponsor system, I'll take your tribute more into consideration if I know you're still interested in them. Your comments honestly mean a lot to me. ;)**_

_**- Katrace**_


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